Harvester
by tracer2032
Summary: Dean Winchester was assigned to pen 20 to 25 lines to sum up his entire existence. Little did he know those lines would cost him just that. Please R & R.
1. Chapter 1

**Harvester**

Okay---I'm guessing I need a disclaimer. I didn't put one on my other story. Oops. But standard ones apply. I don't own them, much to my dismay.

Some things you should note---Sam and Dean's states are continuations of Within the Darkness. However, you don't need to read that one in order to understand this one. So its all good.

And, the story will contain some flashback, but it will be noted. Not gonna just spring it on you guys. If it not clear or you get confused please lemme know.

* * *

Chapter 1 

Flashback--1996

Dean Winchester sauntered into his family's current cheap crappy living quarters, letting the door slam shut behind him. He adjusted his heavy back pack on his shoulders and headed toward the small cramped room he and his brother shared. Sam wouldn't be home for another couple of hours due to those stupid study sessions he insisted on taking which gave Dean the time he needed to get his work done. The seventeen year old sighed heavily at just the thought of homework. He'd just started a new high school, the fourth one this year, and already couldn't believe the assignments he'd been given. Usually, the teachers would try to ease him into their system, but Clearwater High School didn't even take the stress of being a new student into consideration. He was being pushed to adjust to their system and forced to function in it or fail.

Entering the room, he flung his pack onto the bed and started organizing his books by class, sticking the appropriate homework assignments on top of them. Dean cursed under his breath as he stared at what he determined was a mountain of paper. Reaching the decision that their was no possible way he was going to get all of this work accomplished and complete his daily workout and training with his father, he chose to skip the Algebra and English assignments, figuring he already knew the language and well, who really needs quadratic functions when exorcising a demon. He was going to be speaking Latin, not yelling out the solution to _x_.

His eyes fell to his upper level electives, and he clenched his jaw upon reading the title of the book before him. _A Life of Meaning: An Introduction to the Basic Concepts and Ideas of Philosophy and Beliefs for High School Students_. Dean still couldn't believe this was the elective the school counselor had picked for him. And more so that he had actually taken an initial liking to the women at first. _Not anymore._

Dean picked up the book and flipped it open to the assigned reading pages, laughing out loud as he read the chapter title. "_Death or Something Like It". _He whipped outthe one page assignment that he had stuffed into the book earlier that day and began reading it intently.

_**Assignment #3**_

_**Class: Elective 313**_

_**Teacher: Mr. Jack Kingston**_

_You are to write a standard newspaper obituary. (See pages 114-115 in your text for appropriate length and format) You are to declare the exact date of your death as well as the cause. You will also need to state who you are leaving behind (family, children, etc.) and when the memorial/funeral service will be held in your honor, if such will exist. You may include some positive things that you want said about you when you are gone, for example—loving father or mother, caring, etc. _

_This assignment is not to be taken lightly. Not only is it worth a serious portion of your grade but it also is something that requires intense thought on your part. How do you want to be remembered? What do you want people to think of when they hear you are gone?_

_It is a sad fact that all we get after we die is 20-25 lines that serve to sum up our entire existence for those you knew us and those who never will. I am giving you a chance to decide what they will see and you a chance to consider and ponder the reality of death and its hold on all of us. Something that high school students rarely consider, you, contrary to belief, are neither immortal nor indestructible. The purpose of this assignment is for you to grasp that concept and see the time you have here, on this planet, as something to be lived to the fullest._

_I am giving you three weeks to complete this assignment. Therefore I expect your finished product to reflect that amount of time and thought._

Dean tore his eyes away from the page, his brow furrowed deep in thought. He was never one to do his homework, but there was something about this one assignment that captivated him. He was definitely going to do this one--right after he sharpened his knives.

---------------------------

Present Day—2006

"This is it, Dean. I've found our new gig." Sam stated proudly, sliding the newspaper across the table, tapping his finger on the headline.

"What is it?" Dean asked, bringing his head up, thankful for anything to stare at than the greasy slab of meat and clumpy mashed potatoes that the gray-haired waitress had placed before him. He took the paper from Sam and his head cocking slightly to the right as he read the headline. **Clearwater Death Total Equal 10—Is the legend true?**

"So, what you think?" Sam fiddled with his glasses nervously, awaiting his older brother's approval of his decision.

"Clearwater, eh. Didn't we live there for a while?" Dean mumbled as he continued reading the article. "I don't know, Sammy."

"It's Sam. Uh, maybe, we lived everywhere, Dean. And what do you mean you don't know? Ten people have died and the town has a legend about some whack job and all the victims supposedly knew him in someway. I mean, c'mon, man, you can't tell me you aren't just a little suspicious." Sam argued.

Sam was ready for another job and couldn't for the life of him understand why Dean wasn't. He'd already turned down three other suggestions from him in the past week. They had taken a much needed vacation after the Terrabone incident and Dean had made a complete recovery. At first Sam thought it was because of him, the only surviving memory of the whole ordeal was his glasses serving as a constant reminder of Dean's mistake. But his eyes were steadily improving, his prescriptions weren't as strong now, and he was given the okay to drive. Plus, Dean seemed to be over the whole—"I left you alone" thing. _What's the deal?_

"The article doesn't go into a lot of detail concerning the legend." Dean stated matter-of-factly, meeting his brother's hard gaze. He knew Sam was ready to get back in the game, and he was too, but he was enjoying the down time. It made it a whole lot easier for him to watch out for Sam and protect him. Dean didn't know if he could take another scare like he'd had a few months back. He'd almost lost Sam, for God's sake. And that was something Dean could never just bounce back from. _What if I lose him again?_

"We've worked off less." Sam shot back quickly. _Please, Dean. I know you want to do this._

"Yeah…okay." Dean conceded quietly, shoving the paper back over to Sam and turning back to his now lukewarm food. The job seemed easy enough, probably just a pissed off spirit, nothing the Winchester salt and burn special couldn't remedy. _Then why does it feel so…wrong?_

"Okay. Good. So, it's only 500 miles or so from here. We could be there by tomorrow if we left now." Sam's voice was full of excitement as he started gathering his stuff and began to exit the booth.

"Easy there, turbo. Can I at least finish this crap?" Dean retorted, giving Sam his signature "I'm the big brother and we leave when I say we leave" look. It worked.

Sam dropped back into the seat sighing heavily, and Dean could feel his eyes bearing into him willing him to eat faster. But Dean took his time, finding it incredibly fun to watch his little brother keep staring at his watch every two seconds and feel the slight shaking of the table as Sam bounced his leg in impatience.

A good 45 minutes later, they hit the road again. Dean shot a glance over to his little brother in the passenger seat and smirked at how intent Sam looked as he poured over his internet searches, his face mere inches from the screen.

"So, what's the story, Heraldo?" Dean quipped breaking Sam's concentrated silence.

"Uh…well, it seems that there was this teacher. He'd been in Clearwater for some time, taught at the high school for a while and then moved on to the local community college. Anyway, the victims apparently are all former students of his." Sam began, rattling off the highlights of the story nonchalantly as he continued clicking the links from his search.

"So, this teacher—he still alive?" Dean asked, already knowing Sam's answer, as he searched for his AC/DC tape, balancing the wheel with his knee.

"No." Sam replied, reaching out a hand to steady the wheel only to have his brother knock it away. "That's what I don't get. Because all the deaths they have no other patterns other than the teacher being the link. The deaths seem almost random and all their causes are completely..."

"Completely what, Sam?" Dean inquired giving Sam his full attention.

"Normal. There's just no sign of anything supernatural there in the reports" Sam responded slowly, removing his glasses and rubbing his fingers over his tired eyes.

"Huh…well, this teacher--what's his name? I mean, what do the people of the town refer to him as?" Dean asked, transitioning into the regular "know your enemy" dialogue he and Sam had perfected during their many hunts.

"Uh…" Sam started, hurriedly placing his glasses back on to read off the reports. "Kingston. His name was Jack Kingston."

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So please lemme know what you think! and if you had any trouble following or anything. Oh, and Shadow was amazing...absolutely amazing. Kripke is a god. haha.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

_Flashback 1996_

The shrill bell resounded loudly through the bare halls signaling the end of yet another school day. The students crammed their books and papers hastily into their bags and made a mad dash for the door--all the students except Dean Winchester, who instead of heading for the exit, as he would've liked, was instead pushing his way toward the teacher's desk.

"Something I can do for you, Mr. Winchester?" the deep gravelly voice asked, reaching him midway.

"Uh…yeah." Dean answered quickly, continuing to approach the desk.

"So?" The balding man questioned, prompting his student to continue, as he made his way over to the front of the desk and leaned against it crossing his arms over his chest.

"Um…well, I was going to ask you for an extension on that assignment you gave us. You know, the obit one." Dean began, making sure to lock eyes with the man before him.

"I gave you that assignment two weeks ago, Dean." His teacher replied flatly.

"I know." Dean stated sullenly. "But I really need this extension"

"Why?" the teacher inquired sharply, "And keep in mind, I have heard almost every excuse there is. So this better be good."

"Oh, it is. Ya see, my dad—he—he needs me to help him on a job. We leave tonight and won't get back for at least a couple of days. My dad said that we aren't gonna have any down time on this one, and since this thing is gonna be due the day after I come back, I'm not gonna have time to finish." Dean rambled hastily, but carefully, remembering to leave out the details. His desperation was more than evident as he raked his fingers through his short hair. _Please, God, if you exist—help me!_

"Not good enough." The teacher retorted disdainfully, uncrossing his arms and turning back to erase the day's notes from the blackboard.

"What do you mean? Not good enough?" Dean voiced loudly, his tone almost that of a scream.

"Exactly what I said, Mr. Winchester—not good enough. As in unacceptable." The teacher shot back authority in his voice, as he whipped back around harshly, locking eyes with his student once again.

"But, you said that this is worth fifty percent of our grade. Please, you have to give me this extension." Dean was clearly begging now and was seriously considering getting on his hands and knees if that's what it took for his teacher to grant him his request.

"Everyone else is bound to the same deadline as you, Dean. And everyone else is required to meet it. So what makes you the exception?"

Dean's mind drew a blank, the man's question ringing in his ears. He had no clue what made him any different. What he did know, however, was that his dad had told him that he didn't have time to put up with any possibility of Dean flunking a class and not graduating, and if it so much became an issue—Dean would be without a car--for a long, long time. There were many things in the world Dean would risk, but there was no way in hell he was ever gonna risk losing his precious Impala over some idiot teacher's dumb assignment. So, he tried a new approach--an honest approach.

"I just don't know what to write." Dean mumbled, his eyes studying the waxy patterns on the tile floor.

"Yeah. A lot of my past students have had problems beginning this, but once you get started, things will come to you." The teacher stated matter-of-factly. "Trust me."

"But I have started and nothing's come." Dean protested futilely. He knew when he was beat.

"Have you tried asking a family member for help?" The reply echoing exasperation.

"Yeah, right." Dean scoffed as he shouldered his pack and headed towards the door resigning to defeat.

"You may want to try. You only have 5 days left before the due date." The statement almost completely drowned out by the shuffling of papers.

Dean threw one final look over to his teacher before slamming the door behind him and storming down the empty hallway. _This is stupid. This whole thing is stupid. What's it matter anyway? No one's gonna care. Hell, I bet no one even finds me 'til days after I'm gone._

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Present Day 2006

The Impala had fallen eerily silent save from the continuous clicking of computer keys, a sound that was steadily grating on Dean's nerves by the second. He wanted nothing more than to blast Metallica from the '67's speakers but Sam had claimed to have a headache halfway through AC/DC's "Evil Walks", forcing Dean to comply to his request of temporary silence. _He could just take some freakin' Tylenol._

Sam stole another glance at his brother who hadn't as much offered to start a conversation after he'd revealed the name of the supposed malevolent spirit of the teacher. He couldn't help wondering if Dean knew something about this whole thing that he wasn't sharing. Dean's words from the restaurant replayed themselves over and over in his mind. _Didn't we live there for a while?_ Sam honestly couldn't remember. He'd lived in over 20 different cities by the time he was 16 and it was all a blur. _I'd bet anything Dean remembers though and he's gonna tell me whether he wants to or not._

"Okay, so this teacher—Kingston. Was he there when we lived in Clearwater?" Sam asked, figuring if he was going to get answers, bluntness was his best shot.

"What? How the hell should I know?" Dean questioned abruptly.

"Well, you asked if we lived there once and then you got all quiet when I mentioned the teachers name." Sam replied defending his line of questioning, it was completely valid in his mind.

"Yeah, brainiac. I _asked_ if we lived there. I didn't say we did." Dean spoke with a laugh in his voice. "Damn, college boy, you are so dense sometimes."

"Whatever" Sam murmured as he turned his attention back to the computer screen.

"That's right, four eyes. Back to work, I can't do everything around here." Dean joked, catching sight of Sam's tense face as he delved back into research mode.

"Hey, some girls think glasses are attractive on a guy. Makes us appear intelligent. Ha, maybe you should get a pair." Sam shot back smugly.

"Who told you that? The guys in the A-V club?" Dean taunted, a smirk firmly planted on his face.

"You're a jerk. You know that right?" Sam bit his bottom lip to smother the smile threatening to escape.

"Yep. Never gonna change. So deal with it." Dean stated firmly as if the words were a serious command and Sam couldn't help but laugh.

The light mood that accompanied them for most of the drive came to an end as they passed Clearwater's Welcoming Sign. And just like that, it was back to business as they set about looking for a decent motel.

"So, the last death was a couple of days ago, right?" Sam hurried to relocate the newspaper article his brother was referring to.

"Yeah. April 4th. So two days ago." Sam offered, and went back to gazing out the window at the quaint store fronts and old houses that flew by. _Seems nice_

"Okay, and before that?" Dean pushed.

"Uh…" Sam forced himself to bring his focus back on the task at hand reopening his internet search results "March 17th. And before that—January 6th."

"Damn." Dean muttered, as he maneuvered the Impala into the Clearwater Motel parking lot and killed the engine. "So how'd he die anyway?"

"Kingston? Oh, uh, it says here that he was diagnosed with cancer, but he died at his own hand. Huh…that's weird. I mean, suicide victims can be malevolent spirits, right? But how does this affect the victims?" Sam rubbed his temples in contemplation. _This doesn't make any sense._

"Well, there's probably a lot more that we don't know just yet. Now, just hang on for a sec while Jim Baker goes get a room."

Within the hour, the boys had unloaded their stuff and had settled down for quick and much needed nap completely oblivious to the distant wailing coming from across the town. The sirens responding to the call of a distraught wife whose husband lay unmoving in his former study. An old yellowed piece of paper clenched in his pale hand.

_Thomas J. Morgan_

_November 23rd, 1966—April 6th, 2006_

_Passed away at his home from heart failure. Born in Clearwater, WI. Son of John and Sandra Morgan. Brother to Michael Morgan. Graduated from the University of Wisconsin with a degree in Chemical Engineering and worked at Cargill until his death. Active in his local church activities and a pillar of the community. He is survived by his wife and two children. _

_Service will be held at Clearwater Funeral Home on April 8th, 2006. With a visitation from 6-7:30 prior to service. All memorials and flowers may be sent to the funeral home at this time. _

_----------------------------------_

Okay if you'd let me know what you think...not the most action filled chapter, i know, but stick with me here...i think i'm gonna go rewatch shadow again now. Yep...that's what i'm gonna do. Oh and thanx to all of you who reviewed last time--it's greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

_Flashback 1996_

The pale moon waxed against evening's blackened sky. The steady hum of the black truck's tires connecting with the worn country road beckoning slumber. The man at the wheel shifted in the driver's seat, grimacing as he felt the bruises he'd sustained from his last battle beginning to form. He cast a glance in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of his eldest son stretched out across the backseat, a flashlight in one hand and pen in the other, his face etched with concentration. John Winchester could never recall a time he'd seen Dean in such a state over his homework. _This has to be one hell of an assignment._

_-------------------------_

Dean rested his head against the cool truck door, thumping his pen on the blank page before him. This was the last night he had left to get this assignment done, and he still had no clue how he was going to finish by tomorrow morning. He would be the first to admit he'd done his fair share of burning the midnight oil due to a serious case of procrastination, but he'd spent every night of the last three weeks repeating this process of staring at a blank page and still nothing came.

He didn't understand why he was having so many problems with this assignment; it had appeared easy enough at the beginning. And the fact that most of his classmates had already finished theirs' by last week proved it to be so. He'd thought about pulling one from the paper and just changing it up a bit. But his teacher had reminded them on Monday that he had been collecting the weekly obituaries from the local papers and would not hesitate to cross reference, if he felt the need. So there went that grand idea.

Dean couldn't make sense of it. He was the one in class that faced the issues of mortality on a day to day basis following his father's lead on hunt after hunt, with the final goal of killing the thing that took his mom. Yet another reason why he should be able to do this assignment with ease, he'd witnessed death in the worst possible way and the sound of crackling flames and smell of thick, black smoke still haunted him daily.

He tightened his grip on the pen and pressed down into the paper, the blue ink staining the page in the same way it had on all his other rough drafts, as he wrote the words in his neatest print.

_Dean M. Winchester_

_January 24th, 1979—_

He hesitated, pulling the pen back from the page, clicking the point in and out. Dean sighed heavily at thought of having to pick one date out of the 365 days of the year. _Take it slow…If I could just pick a month._

He gritted his teeth in frustration, as this idea seemed to yield an even bigger challenge. If he died in the Spring, more than likely it would rain, and while that could be construed as rather poignant, Dean wasn't sure he'd show up to anyone's funeral, much less his own, if he knew he was going to get drenched. Summer was too hot, Winter was too cold and Fall, well, Fall reminded him of school, and school was the reason he was stressed at the moment. So, Fall was definitely out. 

And then there was the issue of the year, a number that would seal his fate. The question then rose of how long did he want to live, to linger on this earth. The seventeen-year-old quickly rephrased the question in his mind. It wasn't a question of how long he _wanted_ to live, it was one of how long he _could_ live, realistically speaking, if he continued his life as a hunter.

He remembered his father had told him once after a terrifying ordeal with a shapeshifter, that if he didn't start being more careful, he'd never live to see thirty. _Okay, so before I'm thirty. I can handle that._

With a semi-decision made about his life span, but still not one made toward the rest of the date, Dean opted to skip that entirely and come back to it later, choosing rather to work on the body of his obit.

_Son of John and Mary Winchester, deceased._

_Brother of Samuel Winchester._

Dean retracted the pen again groaning in annoyance as he realized he now had to state exactly how he was going to die. He figured his teacher would frown upon him putting "killed by poltergeist" but he couldn't simply claim a hunting accident either. The man had been adamant about wanting specifics, not some half-ass broad incident. Dean couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was being such a prick about the whole thing. What he did know, was that he wasn't going down like some pansy. If he was to die, he was going to do it with style, preferably playing the hero.

Dean drew in a breath sharply, his eyes widening in excitement as he brought the pen back to the paper and started writing. _I got it. Ah, man. I got it. I am so getting an A, well maybe not an A, but at least a B._

* * *

Present Day 2006

"Sam, get up!" Dean urged loudly, smacking the back of his brother's head lightly. Sam bolted upright instantly, his body rigid, hands out bracing himself for attack. Dean laughed at his brother's display of a true hunter's reflex, but stifled it when he noticed a tinge of burning anger clearly apparent in Sam's squinted eyes.

"You suck." Sam growled, searching the nightstand for his glasses. Putting them on, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and began making his way over to the bathroom.

"Hey, I just thought you'd like to know that there was another death last night." Dean stated smugly, sitting down on the edge of the nearest bed.

"What?" Sam asked, stepping back out into the room, his mouth full of toothpaste and toothbrush in hand.

"Dude, go spit or something."

"Huh? Oh…" Sam muttered as he retreated back into the bathroom, only to reenter the main room moments later, searching for a clean shirt. "It's only been 2 days since the last one. None of the others have been this close."

"Yeah. Whatever this thing is, it must be latching on to the people themselves and not based on a cycle." Dean offered as he tossed Sam the morning's paper, a picture of the deceased pasted on the front page.

"So, it all has to tie back to Kingston then." Sam stated, scanning the article.

"I guess. We need to go talk to the family though. See what we can find out." Dean grabbed his keys from the table and was halfway out the door when he realized Sam wasn't moving, just staring at the article. "You want me to leave your ass, Specs?"

The drive across town was uneventful, and the Morgan home was easy to find, since everyone in the entire town seemed either incredibly curious or utterly sympathic. Dean parked the Impala a block away from the house, earning him a look from Sam, but he wasn't gonna take the chance of one of the townies hurting his baby in all the commotion.

Along the walk, Dean and Sam discussed strategy. Sam was to take the mourning family seeing how he had that whole "I feel your pain" routine down to a science. Dean was going to work the newspaper guys and the cops if they were still around.

As the rounded the corner, they went there separate ways. Dean noticed a man, pad and pen in hand, talking to a blonde-haired women. Their conversation ended right about the time he approached and he quickened his pace in efforts to get the supposed reporter's attention as the man headed towards his vehicle.

"Hey! Can I talk to you for a sec?" Dean asked, managing to step in front of the man, edging himself between the man and his car.

"Look, kid. I got work to do, ok?" The man snapped as he brushed past Dean.

"I know. I just wanted to ask you a few questions. I'm, Dean, and I'm, uh, a student at the community college and I'm writing a paper about Professor Kingston and the legend. So if you could help me that would be great." Dean gave his best smile as he sidestepped his way back in front of the man.

"Fine, but make it quick. I'm Jenkins, by the way. What do you want to know?" the man's tone was indifferent, but Dean noticed the intrigued look in his eyes.

"Well, for starters, um…was Mr. Morgan a former student of Jake Kingston?"

"Yeah. In fact, we took Kingston's class together in high school. The man was an institution in this town." The admission came slowly

"So, what was that like?" Dean questioned, figuring it better not to push the man too hard for information at this point in time.

"Having Kingston for a teacher, you mean?" Dean nodded.

"Oh, well, it was interesting."

"Interesting how?" Dean pressed, his hunter's instincts kicking into high gear. This man knew something and he sure as hell was gonna find out what it was.

"If you are writing about Professor Kingston, then surely you know about his infamous assignment?" Jenkins asked, suspicion in his voice.

"See that's where I hit a dead end." Dean remarked sheepishly, trying his best to seem believable. "No one seems to want to talk about that."

"I can see why." Jenkins sighed. "Kingston had this "tradition" if you want to call it that. You see, every year he made his students write their own obit. It was supposed to teach us the importance of life or something like that. Ended up just scaring the crap out of most of us."

"Oh." Dean muttered, swallowing a huge lump that seemed to be forming in his throat as buried memories from his past forced their way back to the surface.

"You know the weird thing is, when they found Tom's body, he had his old obit in his hand. Can you believe that? The man kept that thing after all these years." Jenkins shook his head in disbelief, gazed down at his watch, and excused himself from the conversation mentioning he had someplace he needed to be.

Dean stood frozen, his mind going in a thousand different directions as he watched Jenkins drive off. He nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a hand fall on his shoulder and sighed in relief when he realized it was Sam.

"You alright, man?" Startled by Dean's reaction, Sam quickly released his hold on Dean's shoulder and issued a scrutinizing glance, noticing his brother now appeared quite pale.

"I think we may have a problem, Sammy."

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Okay, lemme know what you think. Did you like it, did you not like it? Please lemme know if there is any major typos, errors, unanswered plot questions (not ones pertaining to the ending, people!) haha. cause it's pretty late here and my brain is officially fried. So leave a review and I will try to have the next chapter up by Sunday seeing as i'm leaving town on Monday. Thanx again for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

The activity around the Morgan house was dissipating. Cops cars and ambulance teams had retreated back to their stations taking with them the whining of sirens and the crackling static of radios. Their exodus blanketing the entire block once again with the same peaceful silence that had governed the neighborhood before. The crowd that had gathered was slowly dwindling, the people leaving, returning to their former way of life, in realization that they had lost a part of it. 

Only a handful remained still expressing their condolences to the grieving widow, crying along side of her. The entire ordeal encompassed Sam like a whirlwind threatening to break his attention from Dean, as people passed between them excusing themselves as they brushed against his lean frame. But Sam held firm, refusing to move, his eyes fixed on his brother before him.

His brother, who for the past twenty minutes had done nothing but pace back and forth, raking his fingers through his hair, a tell-tale sign he was nervous, antsy. His face twisted in an expression that if Sam didn't know any better would've referred to as fear. He was murmuring incoherent phrases under his breath and Sam strained in vain to catch a piece of his brother's thought process. He wanted to question Dean's statement before, but he'd learned the hard way not to interfere when the eldest was in such a state.

Sam nearly fell the ground as his brother, without warning, plowed past him without so much as a single word. Dean's gait exuded a sense of purpose and intensity that Sam could only remember seeing when his brother had come into possession of an earth-shattering revelation that enveloped him completely, a revelation Dean knew he was destined to war with.

Sam's long stride did nothing to shorten the widening gap between him and his brother. His legs burned as he forced them into a hastened walk, instead of an outright run. He was eternally grateful when the Impala drew into view, and watched silently as Dean jerked the door open, falling heavily into the seat, and jammed the keys into the ignition. _Okay, this is definitely something big._

_----------------_

Dean chewed on his bottom lip, drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel as he waited for his brother's lanky form to enter the vehicle. He grabbed the nearest tape, and placed in the deck, turning it up to an ear-splitting volume to deter Sam from uttering a single word. He couldn't deal with any conversation at this point. He just needed some time to figure it all out.

He stared straight ahead the entire drive, never once looking at Sam. Images of a previous time came to him like pieces of a puzzle and his brow furrowed in concentration as he sought to link them together.

Dean could barely recall the day they'd moved to Clearwater and anything else about the town at the time for that matter. If his memory served him correctly, and he doubted it did, they only stayed four months. His dad had figured the city as a good base to operate from given that the surrounding cities were prone to paranormal activity.

He brushed those memories aside, deeming them inconsequential, and focused on the task at hand. The important thing was he knew all too well about the assignment Jenkins had referred to. He'd done it himself. _Now I remember why I thought all homework was some sort of evil conspiracy._

Dean clenched his jaw as he allowed himself to follow through with that train of thought. Morgan had done it and he had died, obit in hand, and he was willing to bet that all the other deaths were found in the same way. He was perplexed by the whole thing and struggled over as to why Jenkins was still alive, as well as countless other, including himself. He concluded that it had to be related to the dates the victims had determined years ago to be the day of their demise, but he'd had to do some research to verify it. _If that's the case, I'm so screwed._

He breathed deeply and audibly, not failing to notice that Sam was staring at him intently, studying his every move and was certain his little brother had been doing it since they'd left the Morgan's.

The hotel came into sight, and Dean brought his foot down a little harder on the accelerator. He was beginning to feel trapped in his own car and needed exile. He parked in front of their room, and quickly grabbed his stuff. He nearly ran into the room, threw his stuff on the floor, and crashed onto the bed. Praying that Sam would think he was tired and would leave him alone. How he ever allowed himself to believe that, he would never know.

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"Alright. That's it!" Sam yelled, crossing the threshold and glaring at his older brother's prostrate form.

"What's it?" Dean asked, surprising himself at how he'd managed to make the question sound so innocent.

"You is what. What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam bit his tongue in frustration, shaking slightly as he tried to keep his anger at bay.

"Nothing's wrong with me, Sammy." Dean snapped, as he pushed himself into a sitting position and stared into Sam's rage filled eyes.

"It's Sam. And that's crap." Sam didn't fail to notice how Dean dropped his gaze and sighed heavily at his accusation and seized the opportunity. "Whatever it is Dean. You can tell me. Does it have to do with that reporter guy you were talking to?"

"Kind of." Dean informed quietly, still contemplating as to whether or not to tell Sam the truth. It had taken Sam a few months to get over the LeGrange incident, even though Dean had been given a clean bill of health and he'd be damned if he had to endure another stint of Sam's hovering. _I'm the protector. Sam shouldn't have to worry about me._

"You're gonna have to give me more than that, Dean." Sam shot back trying his best to sound authoritative. He guessed it worked because Dean lifted his head up and muttered a resigned "okay".

"So, start talking." Sam pulled a chair up and sat down across from his brother, reestablishing eye contact.

"Uh…it's sort of complicated."

"I can handle complicated. I'm the college boy, remember?" Dean smirked at his brother's reference to the nickname he'd given him, but frowned when he remembered that he was about to shatter his brother's world yet again.

"Jenkins, the reporter I was talking to, told me that Morgan was a former student of Kingston's."

"So this would prove the theory that Kingston is the one doing all this." Sam bit his thumbnail as he digested the information. "But shouldn't he have a pattern or something. I mean, it's just weird."

"He does. It's all linked to this assignment he used to give."

"Oh. What kind of assignment?"

"The students had to write their own obit. The man was a sick bastard." Dean answered, forcing himself to laugh at his own comment.

"Wow, and I thought my professors were nuts." Sam replied, staring off.

"Yeah, well, apparently Morgan was found with his old obit in his hand. And I'd bet anything that the date on his obit is yesterday."

"That makes sense. But why?"

"Dunno. Maybe he thought they slacked off. I'm telling you, Sam, teacher's are next to demons in the chain of evil." Sam couldn't help but laugh out loud at his brother's outright hatred for the education system.

"Okay. But that still doesn't explain why you got all weird back at the house." Sam heard Dean sigh at his refusal to let the issue die.

"We lived in Clearwater." Dean paused, waiting for his brother's reaction, but Sam's face remained a picture of passivity, so he continued. "For about four months, you were 13, I think."

"What does that have to do with Kingston, Dean?" Sam asked bluntly, irritated that his brother could never manage to just get straight to the point.

"Kingston was a teacher at the high school when we were there."

"So you remember him?" Sam asked, rising from the chair and retrieving his laptop, a hint of excitement in his voice, at the thought of his older brother holding the key to this case. Dean's heart skipped a beat when he heard Sam's tone.

"I was in his class, Sam" Dean admitted quietly, using every bit of will power he had to keep his eyes on the musty, faded carpet and off his brother's stricken face. Sam felt his knees weaken and grabbed the table quickly to steady himself.

"Did you, uh, did he give you that obit assignment?" Sam voiced shakily, breaking the silence that had fallen minutes before.

"Yea." Dean muttered, barely audible.

"Did you do it?" _Please say no. Please, God, let him say no._

"Yea, Sammy. I did. Figures, huh? I do my homework and the teacher that gave it to me ends up being some wack job." Dean forced a smile as he met his brother's gaze.

"Well, uh, maybe he only takes people in the town. Maybe it was more than just them actually doing the assignment. Maybe it's only certain students he didn't like or that did something bad to him." Sam rambled on nervously, busying himself with pulling up his old internet searches desperately searching for a connection other than the obvious.

"It's not the town, Sam." Dean stated firmly, making his way over where his brother now sat, hunched over, fingers flying wildly over the keyboard. "He's killing them based on the day they chose to die."

"We don't know that yet." Sam shot back, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"You have to admit it makes sense, Sam. I mean, that's why the deaths seem so random and normal."

"What day did you pick?" Dean cringed. There was no escaping now. _I knew I should've kept my mouth shut._

"It doesn't matter, Sammy."

Sam was out of his seat before Dean finished the statement and Dean took a step back when he saw Sam's face flushed with anger. He was sure for the most part Sam wouldn't attempt to physically harm him, but he wasn't inclined to provoke him to it at the moment and reminded himself to tread carefully as his brotherrepeated thecommand deeply, through clenched teeth.

"Tell me what day, Dean."

--------------

The old cabin lay hidden amongst the overgrown forestry. It's wooden slats tainted from their many years of exposure to the harsh elements. Shingles from the roof strewn over the ground where they had fallen years ago. The dilapidated porch appeared uneven, the right side rising slightly higher than its counterpart.

The interior mimicked the disarray. Single pages of paper littered every corner, each onebearing a death creed. The only pieces of furniture that existed were a marked up, rotting desk and the torn, red leather chair that accompanied it that sat in the farthest room. His study.

It was here, he stood, milling through his files, as he liked to call them. His eyes resting on page before him, the neatly printed words written in deep blue ink now faded purple announcing the demise of the young man. He smiled, a heinous smile, at the thought of carrying out such an act. He had three days left to prepare for the death of his former student, his next victim and not one moment to waste. He exited listlessly, the movement causing the page to flutter and fall silently to the floor.

_Dean M. Winchester_

_January 24th 1979—April 10th 2006_

_Son of John and Mary Winchester, deceased. Brother to Samuel Winchester. Passed away last night in a house fire, cause unknown. Considered a rogue hero. He has been linked to the rescue of many in his short life. Saved another in his death. He was known as a strong and obedient son and one hell of an older brother. He was stated to having an excellent poker game and to being a king of the pool tables. He was also referred to as a major chic magnet and said to have the coolest car ever. His favorite activity consisted of hunting trips with his dad and brother. He took great pride in his knowledge and skill in the art of the hunt. _

_A memorial service is to be held on April 13th at the Lawrence Funeral Home. In accordance to his wishes, the service will consist of the greatest hits of the mullet rock era. Well-wishers are encouraged to bring their favorite tapes from this genre as well. There will be no burial, no final resting- place. He claimed the open road as his home._

_His family and friends would like to ask for your support during this difficult time. If you wish to send flowers and cards you can address them to the funeral home until further notified._

_-----------------------------------_

Alright, so there you have it. Now what'd you think? 'Cause i'll be honest i had a hell of a time actually writing that thing and I'm still not all that happy with it. I tried my best to write it in a way I thought Dean would 'cause it is, in essense, his assignment. But i dont know if i really managed to pull it off. So, likei said earlier, this is the last update for at least the next 2-3 days as i will be unable to access a computer. Okay...so lemme know what you thought, or if there was some problem with the chap. i didnt catch. Have a great day and thanx for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

* * *

Dean went back to pacing, bringing his hands to his face, and rubbing his eyes, hoping silently that when he pulled them away, Sam wouldn't be standing there, face red, fist clenched, ready to jump him if he decided the situation demanded the action. Dean stifled a laugh when he threw a sideways glance in Sam's direction and realized he'd never been that lucky.

"Quit stalling, dammit, and tell me!" Sam's voice was now at a forceful scream. Screw the crappy motel and its thin walls, the whole planet could hear him and he couldn't have cared less. He was going to get the truth from Dean if he had to beat it out of him because the more Dean paced, the more Sam worried.

But Dean didn't answer. Instead, he turned his back to Sam and made his way back over to the bed muttering something to the extent of after he had a nap maybe. Sam's body connected with his about midway, the force of his movements throwing Dean's body loudly to the floor. Dean attempted to push himself off the floor, but Sam shifted bringing his knee down hard into Dean's back and twisted his arm behind him.

Dean smirked at his little brother's carelessness and maneuvered his other arm up, smacking Sam on the side of the head. One second of hesitation was all Dean needed to get the upper hand. Within moments, Sam's sprawled form met the coarse carpet.

"College only made you more stupid. Didn't it, Sammy?" Dean taunted haughtily as he sought to push Sam's head further into the carpet, his little brother yelping as the metal glasses bore into his skin.

"It's Sam!" The younger brother yelled, as he twisted his long legs furiously trying to connect with anything on his brother's body. The pained cry and released grip on his head proved he had.

Dean stumbled back falling on his haunches, breathing heavily. Sam was no longer the little 12 year old he could beat the crap out of in all of about 5 minutes. He was a true fighter now and this wasn't going to be easy. Catching his breath, he lunged at Sam's semi-upright form aiming expertly at his knees, crashing Sam into the wall.

The jarring motion jolted Sam's glasses from his head, sending them flying God knows where. He swung his arms frantically at his brother's now blurry form, getting as many good hits in as he could, but knowing that all his efforts were futile. He couldn't see a thing, and Dean knew it.

Dean laughed as he got up and gave Sam a final push on the shoulders, a little more lightly this time, nudging him back into the wall once again before settling comfortably down on the bed with a face that radiated victory, to watch Sam search angrily for his prized glasses. Dean knew it was low, but it had worked. And judging by the way his little brother had glared at him, he had a feeling it was the only way he could've beat him. Not that he would ever give Sam the satisfaction of knowing that.

Throwing one last look towards his brother, Dean shifted the lumpy pillows under his head, fingering the knife beneath, before allowing his eyes to close and drifting off to a deep, much-needed sleep. The steadiness of Sam's defeated heavy breathing as he slammed things against the coffee table and hammered the computer keys with tense fingers were the only sounds accompanying his slumber.

---------------------

Sam rubbed his temples. His head was killing him. He'd done nothing but continuous research for the past three hours while Dean just slept. Sam was mad earlier, he was way past angry now. He heard Dean shift and peeled his eyes away from the screen in time to see his brother, hair askew, blinking repeatedly as he tried to focus and reorient himself.

"I think I may have got something." Sam stated nonchalantly trying to sound as calm as possible, as he watched his brother rise. Last thing he needed was another fight, especially if Dean was hell-bent on playing dirty.

"Huh?" Dean grunted, wiping his face with his hand and he moved towards the coffee table, grabbing the chair next to Sam and dropping into it. Silently thanking the powers above that Sam seemed to have dropped the whole "what date did you pick" issue.

"About Kingston. You know the psyco teacher. The reason we're here." Sam condescended rather angrily.

"Dude, I'm not an idiot" Dean shot back quickly, biting his tongue as he tried to keep his anger in check.

"Could've fooled me." Sam muttered making sure the comment was loud enough for Dean to hear. He saw Dean clench the arms of his chair and quickly continued to silence his brother's attempt for a comeback or sudden act of violence. "I think he'd either a mortal demon or possessed."

"Why?" Dean questioned, releasing his grip on the chair and shifted slightly, making a conscious effort to look Sam in the eyes, but his gaze was averted slightly when he noticed the small cuts adorning his little brother's face around the eye line. _Oh God. I did that._

"Well, first off, he committed suicide, right? But he was already dying so maybe the act was necessary for the possession. Like conformation that the demon was in full control. It's happened" Sam offered before turning his head back to the computer screen.

"Okay. So answer me this, geek boy. How is he killing these people then? I mean, don't most demons, low-level ones anyway, risk being sent back to Hell if they actually kill a human." Dean's skepticism more than evident in his sharp reply

"Well, uh…" Sam started slowly processing Dean's questions, "Technically, the demon isn't killing the students. Kingston is."

"But Kingston's dead, Sam."

"Well, not really. I mean, he is, but he isn't. The demon is sort of keeping him alive. I don't know how to say it, but it works. I mean, obviously it works, cause he's getting away with it." Sam ran his fingers through his shaggy hair as he yielded his response.

"But why pick the students? If he can use Kingston's body, why not kill someone more important?" Dean asked pensively.

"Some demons get a kick out of finding what people's darkest fears and secrets are and exploiting them. Dying is a fear a lot of people have." Sam replied quietly.

"Okay, yeah. I'll bite. Now how do we kill this thing?" Dean questioned, an apparent urgency in his voice that Sam didn't fail to note.

"I don't know." Sam responded softly, shrugging his shoulders.

"You don't know." Dean muttered quite annoyed, but his voice gained strength as an idea came to him. "You think we could salt and burn Kingston's bones and exorcise the demon? I'm thinking that's the only option we got if the Kingston is really only half dead, or whatever."

"Worth a shot."

"Yeah." Dean murmured, as he ravaged through his pack for his M&Ms.

"Dean?" Sam bit his lower lip as he waited for his older brother to face him once again.

"Hmm." The reply came from a mouthful of peanut M&Ms and Sam smirked slightly upon viewing his brother's chocolate filled smile.

"You never answered my question." Sam stated sullenly. He hated it when he knew Dean was keeping things from him.

"Ah, c'mon, Sammy." Dean replied pleadingly. _For once in your life, let the issue go. Just let it go._

"You always make me tell you everything. Least you can do is fill me in every once in a while." Sam chided.

"Fine, since you'll never drop it." Dean conceded "What do you want to know?"

"The date, Dean. What date did you pick? God, you are annoying."

"The whole date? Or just like the month? Or do you want month and day? Or just the year?" Dean teased, popping the candy into his mouth after each question. All it took was Sam rising for his seat, for Dean to get it through his thick skull that his little brother was not in the mood to play around.

"Alright, alright." Dean laughed "April 10th, okay? Happy now?"

"Why April?" the question flew out of Sam's mouth before the thought even had registered in his brain. But his curiosity always got the better of him.

"The weather's nice." Dean replied with a smile, throwing his empty yellow bag into the trash and grabbed his keys and jacket from the table. "So, now that you know, you can do some serious research. C'mon college boy, I'm taking you to the library. We need to find out where Kingston was buried and anything else we can dig up."

"Yeah, okay. Gimme just one sec." Sam hustled to grab his jacket, turn off his computer, and retrieve their father's journal. He approached the threshold and could see his brother already waiting for him, leaning against the hood of the car.

It was then Sam had an epiphany of sorts. His brother was as sly as they came, and he'd let him hustle him, just as Dean had done, when he was little. Sam could've kicked himself for being so stupid, but worry soon became his prevalent emotion as the question left his lips.

"What year, Dean? You didn't tell me what year." Dean let out a sharp breath. Sam was entirely sure his heart stopped completely as he heard his brother's reply.

"2006, Sam. I picked 2006."

-------------------

alright, there you have it. Not my best work, but i needed to cover some things, especially concerning Kingston so lemme know what you think, and i'll try to update soon.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

* * *

The low rumble of the Impala's engine, followed by a stern command from Dean, broke Sam from his trance-like state. He silently willed himself forward, giving full attention to his feet as he approached the car. Sam could hear his heart pounding, each thump echoing louder and louder with every step taken. He wiped his sweaty palms on his unwashed jeans repeatedly, the nervous action betraying the stoic look he was trying so desperately to maintain. He let out a shaky breath as he reached for the door handle and with trembling hands, opened the door slowly, and eased into his place beside his brother.

Sam sat quietly playing with his glasses as Dean shifted the car into drive and peeled out of the parking lot reprimanding him for taking so long to get in. Dean's ribbing didn't bother him. It was his seemingly laid back attitude that grated Sam's nerves. His brother insisted on issuing sarcastic comments about every quaint two-story house in the picture perfect town along the drive, but stubbornly refused to discuss the issue at hand.

Sam, on the other hand, was experiencing thousands of rampant emotions which he knew he couldn't withhold expressing for much longer. His head throbbed under the tension, and his stomach churned as he considered the possible future that was rapidly confronting them. The source of his current uneasy state was Dean, and Sam fought hard to remember a time in his life, when his brother wasn't the cause of his turmoil. Dean was the only person on the entire planet that could turn Sam into a complete and utter wreck. And he determined that there was no way he was letting Dean off the hook for this one. Sam needed an outlet and he needed one now.

"Dean." Sam began, turning his body so that he was facing his brother, "C'mon, man. We need to talk."

"I don't want to." Dean responded deeply, his words holding a force that should've screamed at Sam to drop the issue.

"And I don't care." Sam snapped heatedly.

"Fine. Go ahead, talk." Dean relented harshly, and for a moment Sam thought his brother actually had given him the go ahead to spill and have a "chic-flick" moment that Dean claimed to despise. But he soon realized what his brother really had in mind when he caught sight of Dean's hand moving toward the volume knob of the tape deck.

Before Sam considered his options of proper response, he knocked Dean's hand away and hit the eject button hard, quickly grabbing his brother's beloved Metallica tape and angrily throwing it into the old shoebox at his feet. The action failed to yield the sense of control he was hoping for. So, he picked up the box and hurled it toward the back seat, taking immense joy in the clatter of the plastic as the collection scattered.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean roared, fighting to maintain control of the wheel as he brought his free hand, still stinging from where Sam had hit it, firmly to the back of his little brother's head.

"If I'm gonna talk you're gonna listen, dammit!" Sam yelled, fire in his eyes.

"Only if you promise to stop destroying my stuff." Dean demanded bitterly, his tone close to resembling normal, a fact to which Sam was grateful.

"Sure, Dean, whatever."

"I'm serious, Sammy. Those tapes are the coolest non-weapon thing I own, next to my jacket, of course." Dean replied genuinely, a twinkle in his eye as he bit his lower lip to prevent a smile.

"I know, Dean. I know." Sam shook his head at his brother's statement and feeling the tension in the car subsiding, exhaled deeply before continuing, "So, uh, April 10th 2006, huh?"

"Yeah." Dean muttered

"Can I ask why?" Sam ventured, shifting slightly when Dean didn't answer right away.

"Well, like I told you, the weather's nice."

"Oh, yeah. Man, I am stupid. The weather's always nice on April 10th." Sam replied, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah, you are," Dean retorted jokingly, "And I told you--I picked April cause the weather's nice, the date had nothing to do with it."

"Okay, so why the date? What's so special about the 10th? Or this year for that matter?" Sam inquired completely intrigued as to what action or issue had determined his brother's thought process some ten years ago.

"Dude, I bet your professors hated you--with all those questions. I bet you held the class over a time or two, didn't you, college boy?" Dean laughed

"Dean." Sam chided

"Alright, man. Uh, well, when we wrote the thing, it was early January. And Dad had told me once about me not living past thirty if I wasn't more careful on the hunts and stuff. So, I figured ten more years would work. I mean, it's before thirty and doing what we do, you know?" Dean shrugged and shot a glance at Sam from the corner of his eye to see if he'd accepted his answer.

"You're totally fine with the idea of dying before you hit middle age?" Sam asked, visibly stunned.

"C'mon, Sam. It's not like we have a desk job."

"We could." Sam murmured under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. And the 10th?" Dean shook his head at Sam's insistence.

"Numerics, little bro, ten years, so ten days. Believe it or not, I had a really hard time picking a day and that was the easiest way to do it." Sam smiled upon getting a window into Dean's twisted logic, but he had to admit it made sense in a screwed up kind of way.

"Well way to go, genius, 'cause now we have 2 more days left to kill this thing before it comes for you."

"At least we know it's coming." Dean replied off-handedly as the tall, gray-stone library came into view.

"Yeah, that makes it so much better." Sam shot back bitterly, "So, since you had such a hard time picking a date, choosing a way to die must've been harder, right?"

"Nope, that was easy." Dean stated lightly as he chose a parking spot far away from all the other cars.

"Really? Okay, so what'd you choose?" Sam asked nervously.

"It doesn't matter, Sammy." Dean smiled and then exited the car, starting the rather long trek toward the building. Sam quickly bolted from the car and his long legs soon met Dean's pace.

"It's Sam. And how can you say that, Dean? How am I supposed to save you if I don't know what I'm protecting you from?" Sam pleaded anxiously as they approached the entrance.

"I don't need you to save me Sam." Dean replied over his shoulder, leaving a gaping Sam behind him, as he stepped into the library.

---------

The musty smell of books and old leather hung in the air encompassing Dean as he entered the old building. He quickly scanned the surrounding area, only spotting a small group of high school students at the center table and two older ladies in the corner deep in conversation. Sure that neither group posed a threat of any kind; he set off to find the circulation desk. Not that a demon would chose a library as a base of operations, but it never hurt anyone to be cautious.

He frowned upon viewing the librarian. He'd hoped to find a young, attractive, preferably mid 20s, women. What he got was an older, grayer, balding, 60-something man who directed him to the town records without so much as looking at him.

Dean thanked the man, and hurried off to the back columns. He searched the leathered spines, and decided to start with 1996 seeing as that year in particular concerned him. He grabbed the book from the shelf and opened it, flipping the yellowed pages as he headed towards the study tables. He jumped slightly when he rounded the corner and saw Sam sitting at the table, drumming his fingers in impatience.

"What do you mean you don't need me to save you?" Sam whispered sharply.

"And you say I'm slow on the uptake." Dean smirked, dropping the book down on the table and taking the seat across from his brother.

"I can recall plenty of times I saved your ass over the last couple of months." Sam stated matter-of-factly.

"So you're comparing your 10 maybe 12 heroics to my lifetime of saving your ass?" Dean challenged, scanning the pages for any mention of Kingston.

"You know you're not going to find him in there. Why don't you try the year he died, dumbass." Sam stated, his tone superior.

Dean slammed the book shut and stormed off to grab another book, Sam at his heels. Dean walked slowly up and down the archive aisles, feigning a search in hopes that Sam would move on and quit following him. It didn't work, Sam stayed no more than arm's length away from him during the entire ordeal. Dean sighed angrily and "found" the right section, searching the shelves once again for the appropriate year.

"2004." Sam offered smugly.

"I know." Dean replied, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to calm himself.

"Whatever." Sam muttered as he reached over Dean's head and pulled the book out.

"Sam, look. I know you're upset. Alright, man, I get that. But I let you have your whole chic moment out in the car so could you try, just this once, to not sulk and just move on." Dean pleaded, his exasperation evident. _Does he think this isn't bothering me?_

"He moved here in the 70s." Sam whispered knowingly, before turning and walking off, leaving Dean to wander through the columns once again.

The rest of the afternoon and early evening was spent in silence. Dean occupied one half of the library working on Kingston's origin in the town and Sam researching his death and subsequent burial on the other side.

The only things of value spoken between the brother's that entire evening of searching and the drive back to the motel were hoards of facts pulled from the books and articles. None of these facts brought any form of communication, they were merely stated and left at that.

They unloaded their gear, and trudged wearily back into their temporary dwelling. Sam pulled out the pieces of scrap paper he had jotted notes on, and set about entering his collected data into his computer. Dean kicked his shoes off and crawled into bed.

"Go to bed Sammy. I can't sleep with all that clicking." Dean's voice was muffled by his pillow, but Sam got the message and shut down the computer, hitting the room's lights, before settling back down into the wooden chair.

"What? You ain't sleeping?" Dean murmured twisting his neck to look at his little brother.

"No. Not until I know you're safe."

"Two days, Sammy. Not for two days." Dean moaned, settling himself back down in the sheets, smiling slightly as the sound of a gun cocking reached his ears.

---------

Lemme know what you think and i promise the next couple chapters will have more action/agnst! Just trying to answer questions and cover ground before the end...


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

* * *

The highway that earlier in the day had teemed with life, at the current hour remained relatively silent. Occasionally, the low hum of a vehicle would resound in the distance as it maneuvered through the bends and curves of the tar-black asphalt, casting rays of white light upon the dark roadside motel, the beams reflecting off the glass windows, all shaded save one. 

It was there, behind the sheer barrier, the young dark-haired man sat peering out from behind the glass with every sudden flash of light that radiated through his realm of darkness. He rose from his seat, gun in hand, issuing the same intense, studying glance he'd had given with each past intrusion, his eyes roaming every inch of the paved lot through tainted panes, searching for the slightest change or shadow. Certain yet again his outside world yielded no threat at the moment, he rested in the chair once more, shifting his attention back to the last remnant of his endangered world he was determined to protect. The bright, blood red numbers on the old digital clock pierced the pitch-dark room meeting his watchful stare. _4:30. Just have a couple more hours._

Sam removed his glasses and ran his fingers in circles over his tired weary eyes, allowing his body to slump farther down in the hard wooden chair as he continued the movement. He yawned and rested his head on the back of the chair. The effects of the long day of research were starting to take its toll and Sam could hear sleep's beckoning, longing desperately to comply with its demand, but vehemently fought the urge to abandon his post.

His head throbbed mercilessly, the penalty of straining his weak eyes over periodicals and microfilms for hours on end. This was the first time in weeks Sam could remember cursing his damaged vision. The prescription glass and metal frame hindering his role as self-appointed protector.

The simple act of blinking quickly became a slow repetitive process. The heavy lids meeting each other, and barely managing to break apart, forming mere slits of sight. The sweet seductive voice of sleep rang out once more and Sam couldn't withstand any longer.

-----------

_The worn cabin stood abandoned, forgotten in the small clearing. The wooded slats glowing red as torrid flames licked and devoured them. Stark white ashes forged from their destruction rained down upon him, floating like paper to the muddy ground. A guttural scream reached his ears and in the next instant Sam found himself standing inside the inferno staring at the source from whence it came._

_Another agonizing wail filled his ears as the writhing form before him twisted and contorted to escape the searing blaze ravaging it. The putrid smell of burned flesh infiltrated his senses and Sam's throat tightened, inhibiting his terrified scream, as the thick black smoke continued to build encompassing every other thing in sight, but never overcoming the body ablaze. The roar of the fire faded, and his ears were met with the sickening crackle of sinew and the hollow popping of bones. Sam shut his eyes and covered his ears, fighting to keep the grisly sounds at bay, willing himself to wake and escape to no avail. The static merely intensified, a voice ringing out above it. The single word spoken breaking through the cloud of blackness pouring repeatedly from the heaving, singed form._ **Sam**.

_The raging flames dissipated as a cool thick wind rushed in. All was silenced and Sam opened his eyes once more, gasping as he viewed the former body that now laid a charred skeleton, arrayed in clothing that remained unscathed—in perfect condition and all too familiar._

_-------------_

Sam jolted awake, frantically slapping his hand over his mouth to stifle the chilling scream that threatened to escape. His eyes burned with tears as he turned stiffly to look over at Dean's bed. The empty bed. He was out of the seat in a second, lurching slightly as his stiff legs protested the sudden movement, yelling his brother's name at the top of his lungs. The door cracked behind him causing Sam to jump and shoulder his gun.

"Good morning to you too." Dean replied curtly, stepping out from the bathroom rubbing a towel over his damp hair.

"Where the hell have you been? It's four in the morning!" Sam screamed, his cheeks flushed with rage.

"In the shower, dumbass. And it's eight in the morning. You really gonna shoot me for that?" Dean laughed nervously at the sight of his little brother standing there with a gun loaded with rock salt pointed directly at him, remembering all to clearly how bad it'd hurt the last time.

"Maybe I should! Since you obviously ignored the fact that I've been losing my freakin' mind trying to protect you and just left without telling me!" Sam roared, but Dean did notice that he'd lowered the gun, of which he was truly grateful.

"I didn't leave, Sam. I was in the room. And I told you I don't need you to save me." Dean responded sternly, pulling on a clean T-shirt.

"And I told you that you do!" Sam bellowed, moving towards his brother cornering him between the wall and bed.

"Move, Sam." Dean commanded. "Now."

"And if I don't?" Sam questioned haughtily.

Dean bit his tongue, trying desperately to control his temper. He hated being cornered with no option of escape in sight. Not only that but his brother, his younger brother, was outright defying him, an act that was becoming more and more frequent as the days wore on. Dean locked eyes with Sam and for the first time really noticed the younger's face. Sam's complexion was pale and his face lined in frustration and worry, his eyes conveyed his current stage of rage, but there was something else behind them, something else entirely.

"What's going on, Sammy?" Dean asked slowly, true concern in his voice.

"You! That's what! You picked fire, you dumbass! You picked fire!" Sam's furious accusations soon morphed into bitter incoherent murmurs and Dean watched stunned as Sam turned his back to him and sunk down onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"Uh…what? Where did you get that idea, Sam?" Dean inquired settling down next to Sam on the bed.

"I'm the psychic freak remember? I saw it, Dean." Sam stated forcefully turning to face his brother. His dreams were becoming more and more accurate as time went and he knew with everything within him that what he saw was real or soon to be so.

"Oh."

"That's all you can say? Why the hell would you pick that, Dean?" Sam questioned pleadingly.

"I thought it was poignant." Dean offered with a shrug and a smile, neither of which pleased Sam in the least.

"Are you insane?" Sam was on his feet now, his tall frame rigid, as he glared down at Dean.

"Maybe. I'm not sure. Probably so though 'cause Dad dropped me once when I was lit—" Dean recalled, brushing past Sam in efforts to completely avoid further confrontation.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted cuttingDean off, grabbing his brother by the shoulder and whipping him around to face him.

"What do you want me to say Sam? Huh?" Dean shot back. Sam had succeeded in his attempt, he was officially irritated now.

"I want you to tell me why you would ever choose that, Dean. After Mom, and Dad's crusade, I don't understand." Sam's voice was nothing more than a whisper when he finished, and his eyes pools of tears.

"I don't expect you to." Dean replied shortly putting on his jacket.

"Where are you going?" Sam pressed, stepping in front of Dean yet again.

"To get food and coffee. Is that okay with you, Mom?" Sam clenched his jaw and eyed the car keys on the coffee table. Dean followed his brother's gaze and knowing where Sam's head was at, made a mad dash for the table. But Sam's legs were longer and he beat Dean to it, grinning widely as he clutched the precious keys in his hand.

"Give me the keys, Sammy!" Dean ordered, trying to get a hold of Sam's hand and pry the keys out.

"No way!" Sam yelled laughing, as he side stepped out of the way, tripping Dean in the process.

"You are dead, Sammy. So dead."

Dean picked himself off the floor and started towards Sam once again, but his brother was out of the motel room by the time he'd taken the first step. Dean stormed out of the room, and broke out into a dead run when he caught Sam sliding into the driver's seat of his Impala without prior consent.

"Before you hurt me—I would just like to point out that you have a mere 30-some-odd hours left on this planet and with your little brother who by the way thinks you are the greatest big brother ever." Sam feigned fear as his pushed himself against the driver's door and raised in hands in mock surrender.

"Oh, well, I was under the impression that my little brother was going to save me." Dean stated smugly, taking the passenger seat.

"He is." Sam said firmly, turning the keys in the ignition.

"Little Sammy has a plan?" Dean laughed

"Yep. I think I know where Kingston is hiding."

"Oh yeah? When did you figure that one out geek boy?"

"This morning. Research and vision, bro. I'm also a psychic wonder remember?"

---------------

"Are you sure you know where you are going?" Dean asked watching the green blur of trees fly past the window as he had been for the past 2 hours.

"Yea. I think so. I mean, I saw the cabin, and when I was reading about Kingston the articles mentioned he'd owned one. And well, this is the only forested area right outside of town, so I figure it's our best bet." Sam gritted his teeth in reply, he had already told Dean that at least three times since they had headed toward the Clearwater State Park.

"So what am I supposed to be looking for again?"

"Uh…a small drive, maybe?"

"Well, that narrows it down doesn't it?" Dean scoffed, resting his head against the cool window.

"What about that clearing there?" Sam pointed off to the right and Dean craned his neck to see where he was pointing.

"Yeah…I think…yeah, there's a road there." Dean stated shifting nervously as Sam signaled and turned off the main road, guiding the Impala along the narrow gravel road.

"That's it. That's the cabin." Sam uttered slowly as the old structure came into view. He parked the car and headed for the trunk, Dean close behind.

"Got everything?" Dean asked just as Sam tossed a gun to him.

"Yeah. Let's go." Sam replied before reminding Dean for the twentieth time that they weren't to separate.

They searched the outside perimeter first as well as the surrounding forest up to a 50 yard distance. Satisfied that the exterior was clear, they entered the house, Dean taking the lead. Dean whistled at the thousands of pages that littered the wooden floorboards. Sam mirrored his reaction upon crossing the threshold and bent down rifling through a few. The names and dates penned on each immediately revealing what they were.

Sam caught Dean moving toward the back of the house and hurried to follow him. Every room in the cabin was the same, completely empty minus a sea of paper. The last and final room they came upon was different. Sam would almost describe it as organized. The pages still littered the floor, but there were spaces between the piles and the desk that occupied the center of the room contained stacks upon stacks of them. Dean made his way over to the desk, and began shuffling through the pages, scanning the dates, all of which were in April. Sam busied himself with the piles on the floor, stating that they too were divided by month.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" the deep throaty voice inquired. Dean and Sam both rapidly turned their attention to the door where a slim balding man was leaning casually against the jam.

"Kingston?" Sam asked, knowing full good and well that the man before them was. The man straightened up and walked over to his desk, his heavy footsteps resounding off the floor.

"Yea, that's me. But you already knew that." Kingston replied circling round the desk until he was face to face with his former pupil. "Dean Winchester, it's nice to see you again."

Dean's hazel eyes locked with Kingston's coal black ones. Before Dean could respond, he found himself being hurled across the room by an invisible hand and forced into the hallway. He heard Sam calling his name, but the slamming of the study door quickly silenced the sound of his voice, leaving only the dull thud of his angry fists hitting the wood. Kingston smirked at the closed door, then turned and slowly treaded down the hallway to the spot where Dean had landed.

"You know, Dean, fire is a very intriguing thing." Kingston croaked, reaching into his pants pockets and presenting a lighter, flicking it and producing the yellow-orange flame. "You were the only student I ever had that realized it's true potential for disaster. Did you know that?"

"You gonna light me up?" Dean taunted struggling to remove himself from the floor, but whatever force Kingston was using held him there.

"I always considered myself a fair teacher." Kingston replied, his hand held above the flickering flame "I could never deprive a student of their last 34 hours. Since you decided to pay me a visit, I simply thought it'd be nice to return the favor."

The loud thud of Sam's body crashing through the door accompanied Kingston's wicked laugh as he faded into oblivion. Sam rushed to his brother's side, but Dean shoved him off stating he was fine and more than ready to get out of there.

"You didn't pay the motel for tonight yet right?" Sam asked, settling into the driver's seat once again.

"No, not yet. Why?" Dean questioned, shooting his brother a confused look.

"We're leaving."

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Okay lemme know what you think and if anything confused you plot wise. I dont forsee it happening but if it did then please tell me. Also, my spring break officially ended today so it will be another 3-5 days til my next update, just thought i'd tell ya now. So click on the little button and send me a line! Thanx again for reading...


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

* * *

"Dean! C'mon, man, get in!" Sam urged strongly at the open passenger door, fumbling with the keys and willing his shaking hands to cooperate. But Dean made no effort to get in. Instead, he merely stood still; his only movement made was the turning of his head as he gazed back at the worn cabin hidden a few miles back, then to his brother, and finally his watch. The words of his former teacher played themselves back in his mind. _32 hours._

"Give me the keys, Sam." Dean spoke, bending over so his head was visible through the opening and extending his hand. His voice held a far-off detached quality to it, and Sam shuddered at the sound.

"Why?" Sam spat defiantly, already fearing Dean's reply.

"Because we're not leaving, Sam. Now, give me the keys." Dean commanded curling his hand into a fist and then unfurling it open palmed to Sam once again.

"No." Sam refuted, sliding back out of the car. He knew if he trapped himself inside the car, it would take nothing for Dean to snatch the keys from him, at least outside he could make a run for it. If he felt he needed to, that is.

"Come again?" Dean maneuvered his upper half out of the door space and straightened himself and met his brother's stubborn stare.

"You heard me. What the hell is wrong with you Dean? Why can't we just leave? We've abandoned jobs before." Sam argued, trying to sound forceful.

"Because Sam, it won't make a difference." Dean said gently, he had heard the hidden plea in Sam's voice—the same one he'd always responded to. It was his little brother's signature move to get the elder to comply with his wishes, to console his fears, and to save the day yet again. Sam always had hope, faith, or whatever you want to call the tenacity one possesses to fight a losing battle with fate and still hold on to the confidence to return victorious when all else screams defeat. Dean had always marveled at that, and took pride in his brother's determination, but he was a realist and being a realist knew that this was something they couldn't simply outrun.

"You don't know that!" Sam yelled, slamming his fist against the Impala's hood, earning him a sharp look from Dean. But Sam didn't care. He was angry. Angry at Fate, God, and every other being claimed to hold life, destiny, and time. He'd lost his mom, Jess, and even his father to a lesser extent and he wasn't going to lose Dean. He wasn't. There was no way that was ever going to happen, not on his watch. If Dean felt he had the right to protect him even to the point of risking his life, then Sam was going to return the favor.

"The deaths are tied to the date that they—I picked, Sam. The location has nothing to do with it. You saw all those papers, man. If Kingston can get to those students in the surrounding states, what makes you think he can't get to me if I'm only a few hours away?" Dean inquired as he circled the front of the car, reaching out to grab his brother's shoulders in a comforting yet assertive manner, but Sam spotted the gesture and stepped back. Dean sighed and leaned against the driver's door, bringing his outstretched arm to his head and running his fingers through his short hair, watching Sam begin to pace before him.

"I never read anything about the students in surrounding states, Dean." Sam stated slowly, as he came to halt.

"I know, Sammy. But I have." Dean confessed, suddenly enthralled with the way his shoelaces intertwined their way up his brown boots and then suddenly felt the need to prove his statement. Taking a deep breath, he began to rattle off the deceased, his eyes rolling back in his head as if they were written on the back of eyelids, "Terry Collins, Mary Stark, Peter Williams, Sarah Craft."

He could've kept going. There were tons of names, all former students, all dead due to Kingston. The research hadn't been too difficult, old school records, a few phone calls, and an Internet search engine was all Dean had needed to know with absolute certainty that no imaginary state line could stop Kingston. He refocused his eyes on Sam, his heart aching as he stared into his little brother's pale face, racked with the pain of being shut out by the elder once again.

"It'll be different this time. Dean, please." There it was, that incessant plea again, calling for him to run away, to allow Sam to attempt to save him, knowing his efforts were futile. Dean resigned that he wouldn't, couldn't cave this time if he wanted to protect the fragile existence of the one that was begging him to do just that.

"Sam, listen to me." Dean ordered, approaching his brother and reaching out once again, relieved that Sam didn't pull back this time, "If I'm going to die I'm gonna face it, head on and fight it until I can't anymore. I refuse to run and hide, Sam. I'm not a coward."

"Why can't you just let me save you?" Sam asked, his words tinged with frustration.

"Making me run isn't going to save me, Sam. It's going to get me killed." The minute the words left his mouth, Dean regretted them. But he couldn't deny the fact that his little brother needed to hear them. Sam shook his head repeatedly at the statement, jerking away from his brother, circling the car and taking his seat in the passenger, silently handing the elder the keys as Dean sank down next to him.

Sam kept the silence throughout the entire hour and a half drive back to the hotel. His attention fixated on the illuminated digital numbers that clicked upward counting down Dean's remaining time. As much as he wanted to, he resisted the urge to stare at Dean. For one, the elder would get seriously annoyed and the last thing Sam wanted was for his possible final hours with Dean to be spent in a fighting match. Sam smirked slightly when Dean would make comments about the chick flick moment they'd had back at the cabin or how bad it must suck to be cursed to live in Suburbia, USA for life as the older Winchester tried to alleviate some of the tension in the car.

He couldn't hold the small hint of a smile for long though, and couldn't stand to be confined to the car either. Sam wanted to run away, just get out and kill the thing that was trying to take out his brother. Dean had told him that Kingston had promised him 32 hours and nothing would happen until then, but that served only to anger him more. What gave Kingston the right to decide that? Sam readily embraced his growing hatred, for it was the only thing that kept him from breaking down completely, and he wouldn't do that to Dean. Not ever. Dean was doing the best to be strong for him and laugh in the face of Death as it were, and he would too. Well, maybe not laugh, but he'd give his best attempt.

The Impala came to a stop in front of their room and Dean mentioned he needed to cover the room for the night and exited the car to do so. Sam remained seated for a while, until he couldn't take the eerie silence any longer and bolted into the room, heading directly for the bathroom and locked himself in. He needed sanctuary, refuge, and a place to gather his thoughts, to prepare himself for the battle to come.

Dean reentered the room about ten minutes later, gear in tow, and more than slightly irritated that he'd been the one left to do all the work. He noticed the closed bathroom door and the absence of pounding water and realized Sam was probably deep in thought; finding some way to blame himself for everything as he always did. Dean was mad at the fact he'd have to deal with a brooding Sam during his last few hours on the planet. He wanted to go out and have some fun, but knew if he left Sam alone he'd have serious hell to pay. His only option was to convince Sam to loosen up and go with him. Dean shot a glance over at the clock, and settled down on the edge of the bed, his knees bouncing impatiently as he waited for his brother to exit.

Sam abandoned his temporary refuge moments later. A new look of purpose and resolve upon his face as he stepped back into the room. He walked over to the opposite bed and dropped down into it, making sure to gain eye contact with his brother before he spoke.

"Okay. So here's the game plan. I am going to exorcise the demon and you are going to salt and burn Kingston's bones." Sam stated authoritatively, leaving Dean slightly stunned for a moment.

"Wait a minute. I'm digging? Again? I thought we agreed to switch it up, man!" Dean whined.

"Yeah, well, we didn't know you'd have a psycho teacher trying to barbecue you then, did we?" Sam shot back, a small smile creeping onto his face.

"I guess not." Dean muttered "But I still don't think it's fair."

"I really don't care what you think. I'm not letting you anywhere near that cabin." Sam said firmly, causing Dean to laugh.

"You really think you could stop me? Seriously, Sammy…" Dean's eyes shone playfully and he shook his head at his little brother's insistence that he could actually take him out.

"I think we should go around midnight. I mean that'll give us a lot of extra time if we need it. Not to mention the cover of darkness." Sam was in complete hunter mode and his brow was furrowed in concentration as he continued, "We probably will. If this doesn't work, Dean, I don't know what else there is."

"It'll work, Sam. Trust me." Dean replied, shooting Sam a mischievous look, smirk on his face, "Well, enough of the business, college boy. I vote we go out, find some really hot girls and have some fun, if you know what I mean."

"Don't you think we should, you know, get ready for the hunt? And I really don't think I want you plastered for this job." Sam suggested, but didn't even know why he bothered.

"Uh, gee, Sam, let me think…. NO!" Dean laughed, "Ah, c'mon, Mr. Rogers. You can't be serious. I think it's only fair seeing as how I might die tomorrow and well, my lazy brother is making me dig up the grave. Again!"

"Fine, ok, but no more than 4 beers. I mean it. And you are only going to play _me_ in pool tonight, cause I don't need you getting killed by some random trucker before Kingston gets a chance." Sam listed his "rules" through Dean's continuous ribbing, but he didn't care. Truth of the matter was, Sam was selfish always had been and well, he really didn't think that would ever change. He wanted his and Dean's last moment together, if that's what it came down to, to be the most coherent and overall best experience they'd have in a bar in a long time. He wanted to remember everything, and not waste a single minute of the dwindling hours.

"Okay, okay," Dean conceded, arms raised in mock surrender, "Get your coat, geek boy. And try to look somewhat cool here. Remember, this could be my last night alive and I don't want my nerdy lil' bro scaring the chics away with his goofy smile and dorky glasses."

Sam feigned hurt by his brother's comments. That earned him a mock punch to the shoulder and sent Dean into another bout of laughter when he stumbled back from the blow. Sam slipped on his jacket following his brother into the chilly night air. Smiling at Dean's quick step and overall light demeanor considering the current situation, Sam couldn't help but think of what tomorrow night, much less life, would be without Dean and his sarcastic, upbeat, twisted personality. Sam _did_ know that he wouldn't want to live to see it.

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Okay so here you go...and i will hopefully have the nextchapter up by saturday at the latest. If i set deadlines, you knows i might actually meetthem..haha--i think. I ended up cutting this chapter in half cause 1. it was really long and 2.i thought it was a good stopping point for now--you are free to comment on that decision if you want to...alright click on the box lemme know what you thought and thanx for reading


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

* * *

The strong smell of nicotine, hard liquor, and sweat flooded the brother's senses as they entered the bar. Dean had complained that every bar in the town looked as though it belonged in a country club, so upon seeing the dark old building with only a single neon sign signifying its existence, he jumped at the opportunity. But the brothers had to admit that this was not the usual dive that they were used to occupying either. It still contained the familiar thick puffs of white smoke, the blaring music, and the loud crack from the back pool tables, but that was about where the similarities ended. Sam had dubbed it "cleaner" but wasn't entirely sure if you could call a bar that. There was little or no mess around on the tables and aside from the music, the noise level remained a fair medium even though it was packed.

What surprised Sam the most was that throughout the maze of leather and faded jeans, a few white collars littered the space. He shifted unconsciously as he caught sight of a group of businessmen in their suits and ties and felt almost intimidated in his ratty old blue jeans and faded tee. This perplexed him to know end because for the last four years Sam had done nothing but try to become one of those men and now their very presence made him feel uncomfortable.

Dean, on the other hand, was neither bothered nor wary, he was going to have fun, whether or not the bar really seemed to offer it. The second he had crossed the threshold and seen the long wooden bar he'd made a beeline for it. Immediately striking up a conversation with the cute red head behind it, and began his ritual of shameless flirting, ordering a round in the process.

Sam let out a sigh, and scanned the tables. Instinct led him to one off center with a good view of the exit and clear access to the pool tables. He took his seat, and watched as the red head turned back to work, effectively shutting down Dean's attempts. Dean smirked sheepishly when he caught Sam's tight face as the younger tried to suppress a laugh, and handed the his brother one of the cold dripping bottles. Dean took a swig from his own, relishing the feel of the amber liquid as it flowed down his throat, before settling into the seat next to his brother.

The rest of the night flew by quickly, alternating between constant ribbing, bouts of laughter, rounds of pool, and excess drinking. Sam and Dean were able to let go completely. They even allowed their true skill of the game to show; a fact that brought the praises of many young attractive women as they looked on. Dean was more than thrilled for the attention, but even more ecstatic that he'd found the one loophole in Sam's list of rules for the night. The youngest had issued a look of absolute disgust when Dean had smugly informed him that Tequila wasn't technically a _beer_.

Sam resorted back to the table after the last game they'd played, Dean had let him win again although swearing he didn't, and Sam thought the least he could do was leave Dean to hit on every one of the female onlookers if he so chose. He didn't fail to notice how the elder favored the brunette in the corner or how Dean would sneak glances at her while the other girls fought for his attention. Sam smiled as he watched his brother in action and rested back in his chair allowing the music to wash over him as he took in the scene.

Sam's calm demeanor faded rapidly as a thought occurred to him. He sat up straight in the chair and glanced down nervously at his watch, gasping as he read the time. 12:45.

He swallowed noticeably and managed to croak out his brother's name, before dropping his head in his hands, mentally kicking himself for allowing himself to have fun instead of being aware of the situation at hand. He brought his head up when the table rocked beneath him and frowned when he saw the reason.

Dean leaned against the table, and Sam knew it was cause he probably couldn't maintain his balance otherwise. The brunette from earlier had her arms around his waist, her body resting on his and Sam cleared his throat when he heard her giggle at whatever Dean was whispering in her ear.

"What's the problem, Sammy?" Dean's words slurred slightly as he nuzzled his head into the brunette's flowing locks.

"It's after midnight." Sam stated, feeling rather foolish. A feeling that was escalated by the small laugh that escaped the girl's lips as she pulled her face from Dean's and turned to look at him.

"So?" she questioned before turning all her attention to the sandy blonde before her.

"Dean, the job, remember? You promised." Sam pleaded, desperately trying to get the elder to focus on the larger issue at hand—his life.

"Yeah, yeah. I know, Sammy." Dean replied, releasing himself from the girl's grip but still refused to lose eye contact with her, "Don't worry about my brother…uh…"

"Rachel" the girl offered coyly

"Rachel." Dean repeated before continuing "He just doesn't know how to have fun."

"Dean…" Sam warned

"Ok, ok. How about you go get us another round, Rachel, so I can talk with my annoying brother."

"Don't be too long." Rachel responded softly, brushing her hand across Dean's face before turning her back and walking towards the bar. Despite her departure, Dean cocked his head slightly, continuing to stare at Rachel's retreating figure, taking immense pleasure in the sway of her hips. Dean threw one more longing glance in the girls direction before turning around completely and mouthing "damn" to a now on-edge Sam.

"I knew this was a bad idea." Sam murmured, looking up to see that his brother's stare in his general direction had reverted back to the brunette. "Dean, focus!"

"Oh, I am, Sammy boy." Dean laughed

"Dammit, Dean! Do you want to die today?" Sam yelled, unleashing his frustration at his brother's choosing hormones over the lack of a potential future.

"Maybe, but I think I want to get laid first. We have like 17 hours left, or something like that." Dean retorted playfully.

"Whatever, Dean." Sam muttered grabbing Dean's jacket and handing it to him.

"What? At least I'd go with a smile, right?" Dean joked, nudging Sam's shoulder with his fist.

"You need help. You know that? Serious, psychological help." Sam stated, shaking his head.

"That's what Rachel's for. She seems to really want to help me work out my issues, if you know what I mean." Dean raised his eyebrows repeatedly, a huge grin plastered on his face as he slid into his jacket and turned, walking back to the object of his current state of lust, failing to notice his brother's footsteps behind him.

"Say good night, Dean." Sam commanded through clenched teeth, grabbing Dean by his collar, "If you're not in the car within ten minutes, I swear, I will kick your ass."

"Ah, c'mon, Sam." Dean complained, wriggling free of Sam's grip and readjusting his jacket. "Give me at least 15. I am a dying man, after all."

"Fine, Dean. 15. Just do me a favor and keep your pants on." Sam complied begrudgingly, glancing yet again at his watch. He was already starting to feel bad that he was ruining Dean's idea of a good time, but his concern for the elder's well being overtook that and he rehearsed their battle plan over and over in his head and he exited the bar.

---------

Dean knew he'd drank too much, the knowledge extremely reinforced as he sauntered out of the bar, his body tilting a little in efforts to balance and his eyes blurring. He also knew Sam was mad at him, but he didn't care other than fact that his little brother had ruined his last chance to score maybe in his entire life. He didn't drink cause he minded the dying, he always figured he'd die young anyway, it was the fire that bothered him. Although, he'd never admit it to Sam, the idea of being ignited didn't appeal to him--at all. In fact, in his mind, that was probably the dumbest decision he'd ever made, up until this point, and hands down the worse possible way to die. But he'd had his reasons and well, all he could do was seriously hope the plan Sam had concocted would work or at worst he'd asphyxiate first but he really didn't remember Kingston as one to make things easy.

Dean tugged at his jacket sleeves as he reached the Impala, shooting his best "Dude, why?" glance before sliding into the passenger, not failing to notice the disapproving look on Sam's face. Dean knew that Sam wanted--needed--him to be strong in the face of fiery death and he would be. He just wouldn't be sober.

-------

The hour-long drive consisted of Sam reiterating the plan over and over again. Dean's buzz was fading, and he was more alert as the realization of the task before him and Sam hit home. The conversation went from what exorcism Sam was going to use to Dean's concern that he was going to do it alone, and then to Dean's having to drive partially drunk to the cemetery and dig up bones. Sam capped off the discussion by reminding Dean to call once he had the bones dug up, and not to burn them until he'd finished the exorcism. And Dean reminded Sam not to enter the cabin until he called.

It was a solemn moment as Sam stepped out of the car, clutching the sacred book to his chest. Dean struggled over whether or not to tell Sam "goodbye", he didn't want to, so he didn't. Sam fought to stay outside of the car, wanting nothing more than to embrace his older brother, to tell Dean those forbidden three words in the Winchester household, and tell him it was all going to work out, he would see to that. But he figured that would make an uncomfortable situation worse, so he didn't.

The roar of the Impala's engine shattered the painful silence and then waned into oblivion as the car conquered road.

--------

Sam flicked on his flashlight and began circling the exterior of the house to secure the area and to learn his options of escape if the worst occurred. His options were seriously narrowed, the front door was the only entrance/exit there was and the windows seemed too small to accommodate his tall, lanky frame. Once he was satisfied, he took a seat on an old stump facing the front door trying to come up with a good way to draw Kingston out. Glancing down at his watch, he tightened his grasp on his phone in his hand, and prayed silently that Kingston would keep his word and give his brother the needed time.

--------

Dean was extremely proud of himself for making the 45-minute drive to the cemetery in all of about 20. He had found the grave marker with relative ease and was now roughly five feet down, covered in mud and down to his white undershirt. He was at the moment far from happy as to how he was spending what could be his last hours.

He had wanted to take down Kingston himself, but college boy's logic made sense for the most part, and he wasn't taking any other suggestions, so Dean had to dig. Like he always did. Like the time, Sam got Sorority detail and he got to do the dirty work, literally. And now was the same, Sam had made him leave the girl he so would've scored with and was making him dig, yet again.

Dean took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, leaving a trace of dirt across his forehead. Upon catching his breath, he pushed the shovel into the hard earth and laughed like a mad man when the clanging sound of metal on wood met his ears.

--------

Sam's phone vibrated, and he jerked at the pulsating rhythm. He answered quickly and heard Dean tell him he was all set and remind him to call once he finished. Sam uttered a quick ok, hung up, and trekked back to the cabin, taking a deep breath before pushing the creaking door open.

He really had no idea where to begin. He had to draw Kingston out, in order to exorcise the man, but didn't know how he was going to do it. He wasn't the one Kingston wanted anyway. For a second, he berated himself for not letting Dean do this part, but images from his nightmare came quickly after and he shook all doubting thoughts away after he remembered Dean's Latin left much to be desired anyway.

The papers crinkled under his feet as Sam considered his next move. He decided the study was his best bet. If that were Kingston's haven, then maybe, just maybe he would return there before he went for Dean. Sam's pace quickened as he walked through the hallway and he turned sharply into the far corner room, startling back when two red eyes illuminated the darkness.

Sam quickly flipped the worn book to his dog-eared page and started to read, but before he could finish the first sentence the book and his flashlight were flung from his hands, the black veil that encompassed the room, preventing Sam from seeing where they had landed.

"Well, I give you credit for the attempt." Kingston growled, and Sam could hear the shuffling of pages as his enemy searched through them. "Ah, here it is_. Dean M. Winchester. January 24th, 1979 to April 10th, 2006_. Why, that's today now isn't it?"

Sam's rage willed himself forward, but his feet seemed glued to the ground. His mind raced at the revelation, his state growing frantic, as Kingston drew nearer reading from the old page in his hand—Dean's death creed.

"_Son of John and Mary Winchester, deceased_." Kingston recited, "I am so sorry about that. Now tell me, how did she die?"

"Go to hell!" Sam shouted angrily.

"Ah, yes, I remember now. Above _you_. He hates you for that you know." And Sam did know. He knew his brother had lost his mom, his normalcy, the night their mother had died to save him. Tears burned in his eyes and he fought to keep them at bay, he couldn't let the demon win.

"_Brother to Samuel Winchester_. And what a pathetic excuse for one you are." Kingston scoffed, the heat from his sulfurous breath passing over Sam's face. "_Passed away last night in a house fire, cause unknown_. Well, the cabin will have to do. Another slight error in the timing. His death will be more of a morning event, but I'm not sure it matters, do you?"

"You're gonna torch the place? With me inside? How is that in Dean's assignment?" Sam questioned accusingly; not fully understanding what Kingston was trying to pull.

"Oh, well, Samuel. It's all here." Kingston cackled. "Two lines down. _Saved another in his death_. So, Sammy, think big brother will save you now?"

Within the next moment, Sam was tossed across the room, his head colliding hard with the wooden wall. He brought his hand to his head, crying out in pain. Looking over once again to the direction he formerly had stood; a small burst of flame caught his eye as it flickered to the floor igniting the sea of pages below.

-------

Dean stared down into the pit he'd created, dumping the rest of the salt over the rotting bones. He clenched his jaw, and ran his fingers through his hair upon viewing the time. It had been almost an hour since he'd last talked to Sam and he'd still heard nothing. It was then that Dean decided to call. In fact, he called four times leaving ten minutes in between each one. And upon receiving no answer, he did what every big brother in his situation would do.

He took off in a mad sprint, leaving everything behind--the shovel, his jacket, and the bag of hunting odds and ends. The only things he needed were his keys and the car they belonged to. _Hang on Sammy, I'm coming!_

_------------_

Okay, there you go. Its longer, but i did make you guys wait 5 days and there was a lot to cover so what can you do? If you guys would lemme know what you thought that'd be great and I will try to update again soon--haha notice i didnt put a day! Anyways have a great day/night and thanx for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

* * *

The intense glowing heat made sweat pour down his face, into his eyes, the moisture fogging his glasses that mirrored the flickering blaze. Sheer panic held an iron grip on his heart as he watched the wave of flames flooding towards him. Sam drew in a sharp ragged breath when a sheet of the inferno rushed him, refusing to grant Kingston the pleasure of hearing him scream. He pressed his body against the wall, wanting more than anything for the old walls to cave and grant him exile from the painful death he feared was coming. The rush of fire seemed to stop a mere foot in front of him, the licks of flame dancing, spreading out, and forming a wall that encircled him, but never advanced further towards him. He was trapped.

Through the orange-red barrier, he made out the shape of evil disguised as mere man, watching him, taunting him. Sam choked on the thick black smoke and lowered himself further to the ground trying his hardest to prevent death by asphyxiation before he had a chance to kill the bastard. As if the gods favored him, Sam caught sight of the ragged book that had been torn from his grasp minutes before a good distance to his left; the flames licking dangerously close. He shot his arm out quickly, the radiating incandescence burning against his skin. The pain of which forcing him to let out a muffled scream. He swatted the book towards him and hurriedly clutched it to his chest.

"That's not going to help you, Samuel." The raspy voice mocked as he inched closer, walking through the billowing flames as if they were nothing but air. "Dean's going to save you, remember?"

"And if I die first?" Sam croaked, his lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. He couldn't last much longer.

"Oh, Sam, I don't want you. I want Dean. Dean's not going to come in if everything is nothing more than ash, including you." Kingston stepped through the fiery barricade that held Sam in place, and looked down at the young man's huddled figure.

"You don't know my brother!" Sam uttered a smug grin on his face "He'd still try to kick your possessed ass."

It was that statement that sent Kingston tossing his head back in a roar of wicked laughter that shook the entire cabin. He snapped his back forward, and Sam gasped at the sight. Kingston's narrow eyes shone coal black against the orange glow, his faces covered in deep folds of skin that twisted and shifted into a pattern of horrible scars. The pale skins that once covered the former teacher morphed into a scaly black and the smell of sulfur filled the air.

Kingston furthered his approach and Sam flinched back. Kingston caught sight of the withdrawal, and quickly shot his gnarly arm out grabbing Sam by the throat, drawing Sam's lanky form to his deformed face. Sam gulped back the rising bile in his throat as the demon's split ashen lips offered challenge.

"Let him try."

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Dean forced his foot down harder against the accelerator, watching the needle rapidly approaching 100. He threw a cautionary glance on either side of the road, reminding himself not to be completely unaware of the existence of local law enforcement. Last thing he needed was a set back.

He'd originally thought having the cops on his side would be in his favor, but after running the third stoplight in a row, he reasoned that it was extremely early and the chances of them being out were apparently slim. And also, if Kingston had his little brother, and thought that Dean was "cheating", then, he probably wouldn't hesitate to finish whatever it was he'd already started.

The highlighted numbers on the dash read 4:30 furthering Dean's sense of urgency. He'd let the situation get out of control. He was the older brother. He should've protected Sam like he was supposed to and told him that there was no way in hell he was going to let him do an exorcism alone. He should've stuck to his brother's stupid 4-beer rule. He should've taken Kingston out the first time they went to the cabin. He should've screwed around and did his training rather than doing stupid homework assignments for possessed psychotic teachers. He should've...he should've….

Dean slammed his hand against the steering wheel over and over again, issuing ardent, frustrated cries into the silent car as every emotion and fear he'd worked so hard to avoid and crush, surfaced with a vengeance. His trembling voice pleaded to the dark early morning sky for blessed time--time to reach his brother and time to save him yet again, time to live, to see the rest of the world, to see his father and thank the man, time to say everything he'd ever wanted to, to absolutely every person he'd ever wanted to. Unshed tears blurred his vision, and he cursed himself for even letting them appear, as memories from the past presented themselves.

The heat of the fire on his young face, the terrified confused screams of his father as he commanded his eldest into action. The feeling of his heart threatening to leave his chest when the younger was placed in arms and the throbbing in his little hands and he fought to keep his Sammy safe in his arms. The look of his father's face as his hero watched his life burn away, and the sinking of a young heart upon realizing something, someone, was missing from his.

A wavered breath escaped Dean's lips as he sharply turned the Impala into the forgotten drive and saw the abandoned cabin in the distance, the glimmer of yellow flame radiating through the cracked-paned windows. He reached down beneath the seat for his flask of holy water, and exited the car. Running madly into what would be another haunting fiery night to mark his twenty-seven year existence.

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Sam struggled to take in another ragged breath. His entire body leaning limply against the small piece of safe cornered wall. The early throbbing of his head had dissipated, but was now replaced with the one thought of sleep. Just sleep. It all would be better then.

His eyelids drooped and his head lolled to the side resting on his shoulder. He numbly fingered the book in his hand, taking interest in the crinkling of the worn pages as the sound played within the crackling of flames. A steel grip jarred him from his state of semi-consciousness, and one weak look into the black eyes sent him into a state of complete coherence.

"Never sleep, never die." The demon stated coolly.

"Let me go." Sam moaned, trying to jerk his wearied body away from the demon's vice on his shoulder. Kingston released his grasp and stepped back to view his prisoner's slumped form.

"Pity, your brother isn't here to see this, isn't it? When do you suppose he'll come?" Sam rolled his head, jutting his heaving chest forward, so he could rest it against the hot wall. He relaxed his body after such a strenuous movement and tensed again slightly as a low familiar rumbling filled his ears. A weak smile graced his lips as he cast his eyes back toward Kingston meeting his black stare.

"He's here now." Sam heaved, the smile appearing once more at the sound of his brother's voice calling his name.

"So he is. Now, if you'll excuse me, Samuel. I have a student I must attend to." Kingston turned on his heel, and headed out the room casting a look over at Sam before exiting completely "Don't worry, Sam, you're the one whose going to survive this little encounter."

"Don't you dare hurt my brother! You hear me! I'll send your ass right back to Hell!" A torrent of panicked screams left Sam's lips, hurled at the demon's back. The room appeared to shift before him, the wall of fire that had imprisoned him waned considerably, but the smoke waxed ten-fold.

Sam fought hard for each breath, his back arching in his efforts. The room no longer contained any form of pure air, only the black smoke that filled his starving lungs encompassed the room. Tears leaked from his eyes, and he felt his consciousness draining. He refused to give in, and with the few ounces of energy he could muster, Sam pulled the old book to his face, and flipped it the dog-eared page. Through heaves of lacking breath and waves of dizziness, he painfully read the chant that would free his brother from his death creed, the verse that would grant him clean air once again. Fire would not claim his family again.

-----------

Dean threw the cabin door open violently, surprised to find the handle unaffected by the heat ravaging within. As he stormed into the deserted area, he drew in a sharp breath at its barrenness. There were no flames, no sparks, not even a mere flicker in the open space, yet the fire had begun. He ran towards the flash of orange-red against the back hallway and feared gripped his heart as he screamed his brother's name repeatedly never receiving reply.

Dean could feel the heat brushing against his already fiery skin, and was halfway towards his goal when a wall of fire suddenly formed before him. Dean's breath caught in his throat, as he backed away, his eyes darting wildly as to find the cause of such a creation. Dean felt his body brush against something and turning around to view it, beheld the form of his former teacher.

"Nice of you to finally show, Mr. Winchester. My patience only lasts so long." Dean stood frozen fearing to move, lest he be singed.

"I suck at that whole fashionably late thing. Always overdo it." Dean offered with a tense smirk, his brow etched in concentration as he worked to get his flask from his back pocket.

"Do you find it better to joke at times like these? When your brother is choking to death waiting for you to save him only so that once you do, you can die a slow, painful death." Kingston spoke pointedly, his coal eyes searching Dean's features, his senses feeding off the young man's fear.

"Slow and painful, eh?" Dean muttered, unscrewing the top off his flask, before hurling its contents at Kingston, whose shrill shriek pierced Dean's ears. "Not as painful as that."

Dean put his jacket over his mouth and stealthily maneuvered through the bouts of flames. He frantically entered the inflamed study and screamed out the younger's name upon viewing his crumpled form. Dean rushed to Sam's side, stunned and proud to hear his little brother's murmuring of the Latin text. He reached down and picked Sam up, searching the room for any sign of Kingston before heading toward the door, although knowing that Kingston would wait until Sam was safe, before igniting him, for the simple fact that he'd written it so.

"I got you, Sammy. It's okay. You're gonna be ok." Dean chanced a quick look at his brothers pale face and was relieved to see the sliver of a smile there.

"D-d-..ha..nish…" Sam gasped, twisting in the elder's arms to better view the tattered page, his breath harsh as he started the final stanza.

Dean held onto Sam as tight as he could as he raced down the hall, passing the hunched, quivering form of an enraged Kingston that was stationed at the end of the hall, grinning maliciously as he watched as the elder whisk the younger to safety, and allowing him passage. Dean grimaced at the sight of the thing that manipulated his fate, and was thankful Sam, for once, didn't bear the brunt of his mistake.

"I—I love you, Sam. Tell Dad I love him too, k?" Dean wasn't sure if Sam had heard him or not, because his brother wheezed one final word before dropping the book where it fell unceremoniously to the floor.

A sickening wail penetrated the brother's ears. Dean fought for his balance, tightening his grip on his brother's listless body, as the foundation beneath them shook, and the doorway that granted freedom seemed to have disappeared into oblivion. He stumbled and met the ground when Sam shifted, a small cry escaping the younger's mouth as he landed beside him. A gust of hot air rushed over their fallen forms, and a deep roar echoed from behind followed quickly by a rapid flash of burning heat that bathed the cabin in blinding white light. In its wake, the flames that had been held idle by their instigator were loosed, encompassing the cabin within seconds.

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Okay, so there ya go! I used a line from my fav Evenescence song in there...so giving them credit, and if you follow the band you know what it was. And lemme know if there was any confusion over the plot or anything like that...also just what you thought! Have a great night/day and thanx for reading and reviewing, makes me want to get typing!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

* * *

The dry wood offered the perfect kindling, instantly setting ablaze. Torrent flames rose higher and higher towards the heavens, their light vibrant against the serene darkness. The crackling and snapping of the wooden planks forged a haunting melody accompanied only by the whoosh of the cool night air as it met the scorching heat escaping the pyre.

The figure of a stunned Sam lay prostrate on the floor, his eyes wide, bulging, as he inhaled rapidly, forcing more of the thick smoke into his lungs. The effect sent him into a hacking cough, his body contorting in the effort to expel the suffocating black. The small amount of pure air, he had left, had exited immediately when his body had connected with the floor.

Sam had felt the surge of flame rush over him seconds later and then the blast of hot air as they rolled back. He'd thought for a moment it was over, that the whole nightmare with Kingston had been extinguished in that instant, and would remain nothing but a horrid memory he would do his best to push away and maybe, one-day, manage to forget entirely. Sam had heard Kingston's agonizing wail, and relished in its sound. He hadn't failed his brother; he'd saved Dean just like he'd said he would. He'd finished the text, though his aching chest and raw constricted throat pleaded for rest he'd pressed on, sucked up the pain like only a Winchester could, and sent the bastard back to the abyss where it belonged. Everything within him thought it over, the battle won, the choking smoke would fade and yield a new dawn, a new day for him and his brother to savor.

But he was wrong. If his starving lungs would've allowed Sam would have screamed, a blood-curling, enraged scream at Fate's cruel hand. His darting eyes surveyed the havoc the wave of fire had created. The red and yellow flickering covered the surrounding walls devouring them into ash, and small pockets of new orange light littered the floor as the glowing embers from the crumbling walls rained down upon it. Their lingering threat of forming new strains of raging angry light issued Sam into a state of sheer terror, and he swung his head side to side quickly scanning the room for an exit. His fear-filled eyes caught glimpse of a collapsed figure a few feet away, and his strained voice filled the air, as he crawled towards it.

"D-dean?" Sam whimpered, upon approaching the still form, a bloody gash adorning the pale face from where it had met the uprooted floorboard. Receiving no reply, no acknowledgement, Sam shifted into a seating position as brought his hand to his brother's shoulders shaking him gently, but the motion intensified when still no answer was given. "D-dean? C'mon man."

A low murmur reached Sam's ears, and his eyes watered as the hazel eyes cracked open and stared back at him.

"S-sammy? Y-you okay?" Dean gasped, wincing as he worked to sit upright, and fingered the wound on his head.

"Yeah." Sam breathed "We ne-need to g-go n-now."

"K-kingston?"

"I-it's ok. I f-finished."

"Good, S-sammy." Dean muttered, surveying the growing destruction before him, his confusion due to the fall disintegrating, replaced by a severe dread of the situation. He lowered himself back to the ground in an army-crawl position and motioned for Sam to do the same. "W-we ha—have t-to st-stay l-low."

Sam merely nodded that he understood and complied as quickly as he could. Once lowered into a mirror stance of the elder, he thought he caught sight of a stream of light running beneath the thick shroud of smoke. He tapped his brother's shoulder regaining his attention, and pointed towards it. Dean leaned in close to Sam and a smirk lightly flashed across his face.

"T-the d-d-door." Dean heaved, and then crawled back away from the younger. Fear claimed Sam, but fled when his brother's strong grip held onto the leg of his jeans. The youngest turned his head back to look at Dean, who locked eyes with him and ordered "G-go."

The distance was longer than their tired spent bodies had anticipated, drawn out by the billowing smoke and the flames licking at their heels. The slight quivering of limbs had turned into uncontrollable shakes as they forced their arms to edge them forward. Both brothers were drenched in sweat, their clothes clinging tightly to their bodies, hair plastered to their heads. The cut along Dean's forehead continued to drip blood, and he let it flow freely now, ceasing the action of swiping it away because to do so wasted precious energy. His hold on his brother was taking most of it as it was, but he adamantly refused to let Sam go. He wasn't going to lose him, not like this.

The brother's remained silent, for the simple fact that talking required more air, air that was nonexistent. It didn't faze them; if it did anything it strengthened their connection, a single look in the other's direction spoke volumes. A steady rhythm emerged in their advancement; first Sam would slide, then Dean, and back to Sam. They became so immersed in the routine, the creaking and moaning of the rapidly deteriorating roof nearly escaped their ears.

Sam perked his head up at the sound and shot a frantic look at Dean, who tilted his head, urging him on again. Shards of broken wood and ash began to pour heavily down on them, seeping into their eyes and mouth. Sam stopped short as another hacking cough overtook him and Dean tugged his pant leg to force him onward, the groan from the ceiling beams echoing in his ears. His worse fear was confirmed when a sickening crack resonated signaling the breaking loose of the main beam.

Gravity propelled the rotted wood to the ground with a force that would rival that of the gods. Upon impact the beam shattered into thousands of sharp enflamed pieces that fell like knives against the brother's skin tearing into the sore flesh. Dean felt the slice of one in his arm and yelped in pain, a pain that escalated when another chunk of the caving roof landed inches from his arm, splitting, pieces jutting into his extended arm once again. Dean jerked his arm back reflexively, bringing the damaged limb to his chest, in the process losing his connection to Sam.

The very moment the contact was broken Sam noticed, the pain radiating from the fiery darts aligned down his body paled in comparison to the thought of the elder's abandonment.

"D-dean? W-wh-?"

"K-keep g-going S-sam. I-I'm r-right b-be-behind y-you. D-don't s-stop. D-don't." Dean panted, forcing himself forward a little to prove his point.

Sam obeyed the command, and continued onward. His breath hitching as he felt the cold breeze brush across his face. Sam could hear the loud thud of falling wood growing more and more frequent. He shot a look over his shoulder and could barely make out his brother's form through the black veil, he hesitated slightly before remembering an order is an order and Dean would give him a serious ass-whooping if he even appeared to be waiting on the elder.

"W-we m-made it D-dean! W-we m-made it!" He called out over his shoulder, relief and joy in their escape giving his weak voice the appearance of strength. The beginnings of a pinkish red morning sky greeted Sam as he slid his body over the threshold, and jerkily pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled out into the hedged in area, collapsing once again greedily drawing in breaths of clean air, and waited, waited for his brother's exile from the inferno, for Dean to join him in taking in the blessed gift.

Minutes passed, and a nagging thought in the back of his mind pushed itself forward. Sam lifted his head from the ground and gazed back into the gaping hole he'd found escape in, his forehead etched with growing concern at the absence of his brother's form moving through it. A thundering clamor rung in his ears, and the breath that he'd regained was sucked away once more. Sam's face contorted in horror as he watched the cabin appear to quake as what remained of the ravaged roof came free, plummeting into the cabin.

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Dean bit his lip, stifling a small cry, as he shifted his weight onto his bloodied arm. The movement forced him to come to a halt, dropping his head and clenching his jaw against the pain. The effect that should be dulled by adrenaline and fear was only intensifying, and his body just didn't want to move anymore. He lolled his head back up, and caught sight of Sam's long legs dragging across the floor.

He'd told Sam to go, to get out. Dean hadn't wanted to release Sam, and the action had been purely instinctive, but at the same time Dean knew that both their bodies were slowly wearing out and for Sam to even try to drag his weight would surely kill them both. And that was unacceptable. Sam was the one thing in Dean's life that was not expendable. As much as he loved his tapes, his life, his Impala, and any other trivial thing he owned and guarded, he'd gladly offer them up to save the younger. He'd made the decision to sacrifice his existence for his brother a little over twenty-two years ago and he wasn't going to back out just because stupid fire was so intent on claiming him.

Still, the pain actually letting Sam go could've very well paralyzed him. Dean could remember countless times Sam had begged for him to just let him go—just go across the street and play, just walk to school alone instead of having big brother drop him off, just let him fight his own battles, just let him leave 'cause that's all he wanted was to leave. It'd always bothered Dean that his brother even remotely thought of himself as luggage. And while Sam swore he didn't, Dean saw it in his eyes everyday. And each time Sam's plea cut the space between them, they pierced his heart. Dean questioned many a time if Sam even knew the damage his words had on him, but then he'd remember that he was never one let on, so how could he?

The sound of his brother's tired voice reached him. The youngest informing they'd made it. Dean smiled, a sad smile, and allowed his head to rest once again on the heated floor. His breath came in short gasps, but he knew it would soon be over. Sam was safe, he'd get that normal life he'd always wanted, he'd become a top-notch lawyer, get married, have kids, everything that reflected a normal existence. For all Sam would have, Dean was neither jealous nor envious, for in his mind, he also was getting what he'd always wanted. He was going to see his mom, to spend time with her, to talk with her, and also meet the girl his brother spoke of with the utmost love and respect. Dean didn't want it any other way.

The sickening crack overhead seemed but a whisper and Dean worked to curl himself up to lessen the anticipated pain. But the torment furthered by the fall of heavy wood was nothing more than a dull ache to his depleting body. He was tired, so tired, and sleep had never sounded so good. He closed his eyes, welcoming it and willed his end.

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Ok, ok! Dont panic. More to come I swear. And uh...lemme just say i am extremely proud of myself for posting before fri. Also, there was POV shifts in this chapter so if you guys could lemme know if that worked or not...or whether it confused you or not that would be great! Hmm...what else? oh yeah, lemme know what you thought and I'll post more when i can!


	12. Chapter 12

God, i thought i'd never be able to get this up!

Chapter 12

* * *

The birds chirped their morning greetings breaking the ominous silence that had fallen over the clearing. Leaves rustled in the light breeze, and the groaning of the shrunken wood fell into sync. The blackened shell of the cabin was stark against the roll of white fog that had drifted in, fading embers glowing brilliantly among the ash and charred wood. Its frame still stood, withered by flames and smoke, a lasting remnant of the destruction the fire had wrought

Sam hadn't remained frozen for long after the first part of the roof collapsed. He was back on the crumbling porch within seconds, but by the time he'd gotten to the threshold, the second half had started to waver and then fall, blocking any chance of re-entry and he stumbled back, dropping to his knees, retching repeatedly as reality hit home. His entire body shook as he waited for his brother's agonizing scream to reach his ears. But it never came.

The absence of the sound renewed hope in Sam. Fighting back tears, he rose from his position and searched the surrounding areas of the house frantically for any sign that his brother had found an alternate form of escape, screaming Dean's name repeatedly as he circled the cabin again and again. Sam raked his fingers through his locks and pulled at his hair in frustration at his brother's lack of response. He refused to believe Dean was still in the house. After all, he was sure Dean would've cried out, called his name, or…or something, anything. Wouldn't he?

When Sam finished his sixteenth lap around the area, he slid to the ground once again and tried to steady his shallow breathing. He drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin on his knees, his gaze transfixed on the cabin. Sam noticed for the first time that the caving of the roof had actually worked to diminish most of the flames and the walls of fire had been reduced to mere flickers. It baffled him that something that ravaged uncontrollably for hours was silenced in seconds.

The more he stared at the ruin, the more he felt Dean slipping away. Sam slowly allowed himself to consider the possibility that Dean didn't get out, that his brother was lying on the bottom of the scorched heap, broken and battered. But not dead. Dean wasn't dead for the simple fact that Sam wasn't going to let him die. He'd told Dean he was going to save him and he'd meant it.

But Dean always had insisted that was his job, to protect and save Sam, whatever the cost--a construct that had been drilled in the elder's head since childhood. Sam knew the logic was irreversible. Dean would never shirk his responsibility but the very thought of the elder sacrificing himself, angered Sam, because in his mind, the sacrifice was the betrayal. It was not a statement of love, but one of abandonment, resignation, and defeat. In offering himself up, Dean was leaving him alone, to fend for himself, the very thing Dean had worked so hard to prevent. And Sam could recall many a time he'd complained for such a chance, and Dean had risked all to ensure he'd had it, even when he disagreed entirely, and he'd done nothing but throw it in the elder's face. But now it was his turn to repay the favor. It was his turn to take the risk. Sam couldn't think of one reason, other than his father's insistence, that he should be saved and granted life, but was sure he could rattle off thousands in plea for his brother's.

The fog started to lift and Sam groaned at the aching present in his hunched form, his eyes rimmed red were still fixed on the rubble, his face emotionless, blank, empty. He lifted himself off the ground and slowly walked over toward the heap, studying it. He soon realized the only option he had was to walk over the top of the debris. He stepped gingerly onto the pile and shifted his weight unto it. Sam smirked slightly as he thought of what Dean would say to him "walking" over him, but then found himself biting his lip to fight back tears as he tried to find solace in convincing himself that the day he'd get to hear his brother's sharp remark would come. He'd make sure of that.

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His world was dark and hollow, everything Dean thought Death would be, but he felt awake, and relatively alive. It was a weird awake though; the kind that borders on semi-consciousness and the state of being completely detached from one's surroundings.

His face suddenly felt extremely warm, and this surprised Dean because he really couldn't feel anything anymore or hadn't for some time, he was only aware of things. He was conscious of the rise and fall of his chest, and the slight arch of his back as his air supply was depleted and his lungs worked futilely to take in even one small gasp of oxygen. But all of the heaves were void of feeling even though he knew they should be pain-filled. He was coherent enough to know something had fallen on him, but had no idea where it had landed in relation to his body. The pressure that should've accompanied the fallen wood was nonexistent. But this contact he could actually feel.

Dean worked to focus all of his dwindling attention on the warmth. His mind moved in a thousand different directions, providing challenge after challenge as he tried to hone in on it. The young man grew frustrated at the continuous wandering of his thoughts. His desperation to find the source escalated each passing moment as the heat gained intensity, its waves flowing through his body. The sensation was almost familiar, comforting.

He tried furiously to open his eyes, but the lids refused to crack. As if sensing his intent, the warmth laid hold on his eyes, the light brush of heat upon them beseeching them to open and see. The place of confusion and distraction to which he'd occupied shattered and every fiber in his being latched unto the sight that met his wide eyes and seemed to take proper function. His head was clear, focused, and with disbelief and rapture so apparent on his face, he gazed longingly at the pale face before him graced by a sea of blonde hair that framed it perfectly. Staring into the deep pools of blue, the only word to define the image before him escaped his lips.

"M-mom?"

A soft smile graced the woman's face at her son's recognition. She kneeled beside him, and brought her hand to his hair, stroking her fingers over his short sweat-soaked hair. A wayward tear trickled down Dean's face as he shut his eyes once again savoring his mother's gentle touch. The silence that surrounded him held her encouragement, her peace. Dean allowed himself to be completely consoled in her touch, a small smile adorning his face as he shifted his head in closer in towards her caress. She was here, just like he'd remembered, to comfort him in his end.

He brought his gaze back to her. His mother's face was turned, her eyes looking up towards something he could not see, but could only hear the noise drifting for the direction of her glance. He just watched her, taking in everything about her, until she turned back to him. It was the hint of sadness in her eyes that caused Dean to fear, panic arose within him as his mother whom he'd just found, gently pulled her hand away.

The absence of her touch brought immense pain shooting through every inch of Dean. A coppery taste filled his mouth, and his lungs screamed in agony as he heaved to breathe. Every feeling that he'd lost had returned in sheer force, and his body shivered under it. He felt the steel vice latch onto his arms and pull, the touch neither warm nor comforting, but threatening to tear him away from his mother.

A guttural scream poured from his lips as the vice spoke to him, words not understood. The pain in his body pulsated, but it was nothing to the beat of his own heart as he was ripped away further and further away from his mother. His mind begs her to stay, to help him fight against the force that's dragging him, to not leave him again, to hold him once more.

But then he is free from the wooden prison that had held him for so long and his form jars unexpectedly and repeatedly as the grip refuses to release him and continues pulling. His eyes search the hole from which he's been yanked from for just one more fleeting glimpse of her glowing radiance. It is to no avail, and he screams again because she has been taken from him once more.

The vice denied him liberation again and so he fights, flailing angrily, with everything within him. He wants her back, he can get her back, he need only to return. He grits his teeth against the hold as it grows stronger, forcing him against something hard, solid. He can feel the pressure increase on his arms as he is pinned, unable to move.

His eyes rolled widely in his head, glazed unable to make out his enemy who continued to speak to him. He shakes his head to rid it of the sound, but it amplifies, intensifies. He panics as the words are no longer gibberish, but are becoming coherent phrases to his mind. The pain of the tight grasp increases, and his eyes fixate on the source of the agony. He gasps sharply as the form before him speaks, and his body relaxes and slumps into the earth beneath as the words of his rescuer are made clear in his haze.

"It's okay, Dean. It's me. It's ok."

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alright lemme know what you think...POV shifts again lemme know if that worked or not and uh...have lots of catch up reading to do! YEAH! so enjoy and shoot me a line!


	13. Conclusion

Chapter 13

* * *

Sam sat down at the edge of the bed, chewing on his thumbnail, his leg bouncing nervously as he stared for the thousandth time at his brother's still form lying beneath the ugly green motel comforter. As the minutes dragged on, he was regretting his former decision to not take Dean to the hospital, which had been his initial instinct, but then he remembered that Samuel Baker's credit card was nearly maxed out and Dean Johnson's was in no better shape. Sam sighed at the thought, and mentally reminded himself to tell Dean they would have to reapply soon whenever the elder decided he was going to wake back up. 

It was the complete lack of showing anything closely resembling that of an attempt to rise, that caused Sam to grow anxious because for the most part, Dean had seemed okay, all things considered. After he'd managed to calm him down, which had taken a hell of a lot, Dean appeared to be coherent, broken from whatever had entranced him, and had even allowed Sam to check him again and again for injuries. The youngest had been stunned when he'd found only abrasions and the beginnings of bruises, nothing broken or shattered. Sam knew his older brother was strong, but also was sure of the fact that there was no way Dean could've got out with nothing more than scratches unless further protected. Something was in that cabin with his brother, Sam was sure of it now, and the wild look that had so ravaged Dean's features was testament to that. The hard part would be getting Dean to relay that information to him.

He had tried when he'd helped the elder make his way to the car, stopping andtalking him through each coughing fit that overtook as Dean's starving and greedy lungs craved for more air. He'd questioned on the car ride back to the grave site letting his eyes drift away from the road to gaze at the back of his older brother's head as the elder stared silently out the window. By the time he'd actually reached the cemetery, Dean's gravelly voice broke the silence for the first time since Sam had dragged him out and had insisted on finishing the job himself, since he was the one who left it undone in the first place. Sam couldn't remember the exact words he'd used when he caught sight of Dean's hand making its way to the door handle, but they'd worked, whether or not that was due to the elder's state of exhaustion or his forcefulness, the youngest was unsure, he chose to believe the latter.

No more than 30 minutes had been needed to torch the exposed salted bones and fling the dirt back upon the ash. Sam had moved swiftly but meticulously and managed to trek back to the car with all the abandoned gear in tow, Dean's jacket held firmly in hand. Sam had smiled at the thought of his brother's gratitude for him retrieving the prized item, but frowned when he saw Dean fast asleep slumped against the passenger door.

Sam removed his currently bent glasses, yet another thing he couldn't pay to fix, and scrubbed his hands against his face, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. That had been two days ago, and Dean was still out cold. If it weren't for the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest and the rhythmic breaths that he obsessively checked every five minutes, one could think his brother…well, not alive.

The younger kicked at the coarse carpet a few times more and then made his way over to check over the cuts and gashes hidden beneath square patches of white. Sam gasped yet again at seeing his brother's chest, a kaleidoscope of black, blue, green, and yellow, a far cry from the tanned skin he was so used to seeing. The cuts were healing well, but he'd known that already because he'd checked them at least five other times that morning, and over twenty in the past two days. Sam couldn't help it, when he was worried, he did one of two things—pace or work. And seeing as pacing in the cramped room was rather dizzying to say the least he had opted to play mother hen until Dean forced him to stop, and even then he wasn't sure if he would.

Once content that Dean was very much alive, Sam sought out the TV remote and settled down next to his big brother on the bed, mentally stating that the only reason for the action was merely that he wouldn't be able to hear Dean's breathing patterns with the sound on.

He flipped aimlessly for a while before landing on one rendition of Godzilla, Dean's favorite. He smirked and nudged Dean lightly, laughing as he reiterated the time their father had taken away Dean's recording of the movie as punishment and how Dean had turned the house upside down looking for the thing.

Sam let out a deep breath. He didn't know why he bothered but for the past few days he'd taken a liking to talking to his unconscious brother, as if the sound of his voice would cause the elder to stir. He asked a lot of questions, most of them incredibly stupid, in hopes that Dean would mumble some smart-ass reply, but never got one. That didn't deter him though, he'd read somewhere that coma patients can still hear and somewhat understand whatever is spoken to them, so if nothing else he was giving his brother tons of new material to use against him. And Sam was sure Dean appreciated that. Plus, it was the only way he was able to keep from pulling his hair out in concern.

It was in the middle of the battle between Godzilla, Mothra and his Cosmos, not to mention Battra that Sam grimaced and shifted uncomfortably because something was trying to bury into his ribcage. It took him a second, and only a second, to snap out of his movie-watching experience and see that it was his brother's shoulder as Dean moved stiffly, his eyes struggling to open.

"That's it, Dean, c'mon" Sam coaxed, his face mere inches from the elder's as he focused his full attention on Dean's efforts. A painful moan filled the air as Dean drifted back into consciousness and his eyes fluttered open to Sam's relief.

"There you go, Dean. Welcome back." The youngest spoke softly with a huge smile plastered on his face. Sam waited for some form a reply to come from Dean but instead watched his brother's head loll to the left, his hazel eyes threatening to shut once more. Before he knew it Sam had his hands on Dean's cheeks, forcing him to look him in the eye. "No. Dean, no. You have to stay awake, ok?"

"Mmmhmm" Dean groaned, widening his eyes as he tried to focus on Sam.

"Good. Good." Sam nodded, releasing his hold on his brother's face, and noticed that Dean was licking his dry lips. "You thirsty?"

Sam didn't wait for Dean's reply. He jumped off the bed, hustled in to the bathroom, and began filling the complimentary Styrofoam cup with water, ducking his head out of the frame from time to time, and rambling at a loud volume to ensure his brother was still awake. Sam hurried back to the bed, set the cup on the nightstand, and helped Dean into a sitting position.

"Thanks" Dean mumbled, as he lifted a weak hand to take the water. Sam grabbed the cup once more and hesitated for a moment before passing the cup over into Dean's grasp. To his pleasant surprise, Dean managed to maintain a grip on the cup and took a few slow small sips of water before handing the cup back, licking his lips once more before speaking again. "How long?"

"Two days, 6 hours and 23 minutes." Sam rattled off, glancing down at his watch. He brought his gaze up just in time to catch the last remnant of Dean's tired smirk. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to get up."

"Wish I hadn't" Dean muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Do you need some aspirin or something?" Sam asked nervously

"No, I'm ok." Dean responded slowly, letting his hand drop back into his lap.

"Of course you're ok. You're alive." Sam stated, laughing at himself for saying the obvious. Dean huffed at the comment and cocked his head to the side studying Sam's face.

"Hmm."

"What? Something wrong?" Sam stiffened anxiously awaiting the reply

"Your face." Dean pointed.

"Yeah, well, I have you to thank for that." Sam quipped lightly, brushing his hand over the tender jaw-line where a nice sized bruise was surfacing.

"Huh?"

"Let's just say you put up a hell of a fight when I pulled you out. What happened by the way? I mean, did you think I was someone else?"

"Sorry." Dean said the word truly apologetic, dropping his head almost in shame.

"Dude, it's not your fault. You were out of it. Really, really out of it." Sam half-joked, trying to lighten the mood because Dean's face held a look of remorse the younger was sure he hadn't seen in years.

"Maybe. Just…I don't know." Dean shrugged.

"Don't know what Dean?" Sam pressed, shifting his position on the bed to better face the elder.

"I thought…never mind." Dean muttered, sliding back down and resting his head on the lumpy pillow.

"Dean, c'mon. You thought…"

"I thought I saw mom." Dean's voice was muffled by the pillow and Sam had to strain to hear his words.

"Mom? You saw mom?" Sam questioned, confusion and fear in his voice as he realized how close he'd been to actually losing Dean.

"I don't know." Dean replied, pushing his head further into the pillow in attempt to ward off Sam's advance. It didn't work.

"What do you mean, you don't know? You either saw her or you didn't. Did she say anything to you?" Sam's curiosity always did get the better of him, but he always felt it his job and priviledge as the younger sibling to ask and push until he got answers otherwise between Dean and his father he would've never gotten a straight answer in his entire life.

"No. Kind of. S-she was just there." Dean made a conscious effort not to turn and look at Sam, and not only because of the dampness ever present around his eyes, but because a part of him resented Sam for pulling him away from her. Dean closed his eyes, the image of his mother kneeling before him, comforting him, still so realto him.

"Dean, I-I don't uh…" While Sam struggled to find the word,Dean fought to reign his emotions, his tired state not helping his cause in the least.

"Do you think she was there to take you?" the question hung in the air for some time. Dean replayed the last few moments of watching his mother. Her gaze turned skyward.

"No." Dean reasoned, turning over to look at Sam. "She was protecting me and waiting for you."

"For me? But Dean I didn't see her." Sam spoke cautiously, trying to understand his brother's point and brush aside the thought that it could've have simply been a smoke-inducedhallucination.

"To save me." Dean whispered, his eyes bearing deep into Sam's, and his face solemn as though revealing a secret of the utmost importance.

"Well, I told you I would." Sam stated firmly with a curt nod, a small smile creeping onto his face as he watched his brother shift into a comfortable position and slump when he'd found one. "Dean? Dean?"

Sam leaned over his brother, staring down at his sleeping face, and glad that he too could rest now. He had thousands more questions, but they could wait. For now, everything was as it should be in their abnormal world. Sinking down next to Dean, Sam snuggled in under the comforter and drifted off to sleep.

The brother's slept peacefully, but were awakened once again, not more than an hour later, by an all too familiar ring.

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Okay so there you have it...the ending. I hoped you liked it and so sorry i didnt post earlier but i had six assigments/tests this week so that wasnt an option. If you would lemme know what you thought of this chapter or the whole story all together that would be great (it's the purpley button to the bottom left) haha...And see...i even set myself up for my next one...how about that?


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